I'VE BEEN SITTING ON THIS CHAPTER FOR MONTHS. THOUGHT IT WAS HIGH TIME I PUBLISHED IT. SORRY FOR THE DELAY, BUT AS IT TURNS OUT, AFTER THREE YEARS OF WRITING YOU GET A LITTLE DETACHED. I STILL THINK ABOUT THIS STORY OCCASIONALLY AND CAN'T HELP BUT WRITE IT IN MY HEAD WITHOUT TIME TO PUT IT ALL TOGETHER IN A NEAT LITTLE DOCUMENT. BUT EVENTUALLY I WILL FINISH THIS STORY. A PROMISE IS A PROMISE.

THANKS FOR STICKING IT OUT WITH ME. YOUR REVIEWS ALWAYS MAKE ME SMILE.

HOPE YOU LIKE THIS ONE.

XX MEG

- THURSDAY - 4:30 PM -

The tension in Carlo ran from his neck all the way down his legs. His hand was set to crush the wheel in his grip, the other methodically scratching against the grain of his stubbled cheek. He had no thoughts, just a heaviness in his gut that felt like a projection of every negative emotion that ever plagued mankind.

Traffic was bumper to bumper and the sun was blindingly bright; although, Carlo mused to himself, it may as well have been concealed by rainclouds. The silence in the car set Carlo on edge even further. He had just opened his mouth to beg for someone to say anything when he heard Nicky gasp beside him. His brother was sobbing like a baby and Carlo lost all desire to engage with him. He couldn't begin to understand what he'd been through. Having spent his formidable years under the tutelage of a pedophile screwed up Nicky in ways that Carlo couldn't even begin to understand. What Carlo could comprehend, however, was that the decade and a half Nicky spent hiding it did him a disservice of biblical proportions.

He checked Matthew in the rearview. His lanky limbs were draped across the backseat, almost comically since the kid was so damned tall. Carlo was willing to bet on there not being a backseat Matthew could squeeze into without looking exhaustively awkward. Matthew met his gaze in the mirror, a nice bright shiner on his cheek. Just perfect, Carlo thought. Bring Ma home her baby and have to explain the bruise on his face.

Carlo sighed, turned up AC/DC's "Hard as a Rock" on the radio, and eased his foot onto the gas. Traffic was finally picking up.

- FRIDAY - 2:00 AM -

Jonathan silenced Shawn for the third time in ten minutes. He stood next to him in the hallway of Nicky's building watching him with befuddled eyes while Jonathan wailed mercilessly on Nicky's door.

By the time the half-naked girl with the tattoo of a line of Kurt Cobain's suicide note on her pelvic area appeared to ream him out for waking her, Jonathan was about ready to give up. Because the first two times of calling Shawn's name didn't work, Jonathan physically steered him away from the cross-looking bimbette.

"I'm going, I'm going." Shawn complained, as Jonathan ushered him away.
"Focus, Hunter!" Jonathan thought he might've smiled had the circumstances been different.

"Why did we even come here, Jon? I thought Nicky didn't wanna deal with me anymore."

Jonathan studied the boy's face. He even victimized himself. "That's not why, Shawn. He just needed some time to himself. Imagine doing what he did for us, all day, everyday."

"That didn't answer my question, Jon." Shawn crossed his arms when they hit the bottom of the stairs. Jonathan had no sufficient answer for him, so he lied. "I just wanted to talk to him. Doesn't matter, we'll just go to the police station. Trust me, everything's going to be okay."

- THURSDAY - 4:00 PM -

Chris hoped that the detective uniform was enough to get a sales associate's attention. The porn shop was shamelessly packed and Chris figured it was likely with the cast of Happiness. Not only did the customers not grow embarrassed at the site of two cops, but they seemed to welcome them in a way that could only be sinister. That was true for the ladies at least, Chris mused, recalling the last time he was goggled at like that was in college when he and his friends dressed in sexually explicit cop costumes as a joke. But this time his badge was real, his uniform lacked any resemblance to a speedo, and he was yearning to scrub himself down in holy water the first chance he got. The Special Victims Unit hadn't turned him into an altar boy. It simply drew out the location of love and passion for him, which, he learned, was far away from the perversion of society.

Conseiko, on the other hand, might've just walked in on his own personal heaven with his body still in tact and unseparated from his dark little soul. He held up something - of which its use and where it was supposed to go Chris didn't understand - with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Quit fucking around." Chris frowned, avoiding eye contact with a man holding a leather bra up to his chest across the aisle. "Excuse me." A woman - wearing tight jeans, a low-cut sweater, and a

Loveshack keychain around her neck - crossed in front of Chris. She stopped in front of him. "You boys real cops or are you messin' around? 'Cause I've got a crapload of shipments to unpack tonight and-?" "We're real cops, ma'am." Conseiko tossed a rubber paddle into a cardboard bin and appeared at Chris' side.

"We're looking for someone who may have stood out to you over the past few months."

The woman raised her eyebrows, evidently shock-stricken.

Chris cleared his throat. "A child went missing earlier this week. Perhaps you've noticed a middle aged man coming in here who seemed a little off to you?

Specifically we're looking for a brown panelled station wagon."

The woman shrugged. "Sorry, honey. I don't see much of the parking lot from in here and depending on the night, we see quite a few nut balls." "What about any kids?"

Chris wished more than ever he had come alone. "Kids, sergeant?" He asked his partner.

"Yes, detective." He shot him a determined glare. "Any teenagers try to come in here?"

The woman started to look uneasy. "Hey, we only serve 18 years and older. That's all."

"I said 'try to come in' not get served." Conseiko said, crossing his arms.

"Look, I ain't looking for any trouble."

"A little boy was taken from his neighbourhood by a man driving that kind of car. He isn't the first child to go missing from around here and we're trying to prevent it from happening again. We have reason to believe that this guy lives around here. Do you have kids?" Conseiko had grown red in the face to Chris' surprise.

The woman nodded. "Feel like telling the truth now?"

She looked embarrassed, but took her time responding. "When I first started here, say six or seven years ago, I used to see a brown wagon like that in the parking lot. I never knew whose it was but it was usually there when I finished my shift an hour before close. I used to finish at 8 o'clock so I could be home in time to say goodnight to my boys. I hadn't seen it around in ages."

Chris' mind resembled a jigsaw puzzle. "You hadn't seen it?"

"So a couple of kids pulled up in it. How long ago?" Conseiko prompted her.

"I don't know if it's the same car! I saw one kid, messy-looking - y'know the type. He got out-"

"Front or back?"

"Back! I didn't see the driver. He came walking up to the door and when he saw me looking at him, he turned around and ran. He didn't go back to the car, I have no idea where he went. He ran in the other direction and then the car took off."

Chris swallowed. "After him?

"No, I don't know. That street out there's a one-way so if he wanted to chase him, he'd have to go around the block." The woman's forehead was creased. "I didn't know this was anything important at the time, officers."

Conseiko nodded. "It's Detective and Sergeant, ma'am. License plate?"

"No." She paused. "I mean, I didn't get one. I mean, I didn't see it. I thought it was just some kids trying to get porno stuff. I didn't know..." She trailed off.

Chris assured her. "Ma'am, you're not in trouble. We just need you to remember everything you can that might be relevant."

"That's about all I can think of, honey." She nodded, resolutely. "Alright, well Detective Rivera here is going to give you his card."

Chris reached for his pocket. "I want your name and telephone number, ma'am. Just in case we need to reach you."

- THURSDAY - 5:30 PM -

The boys pulled up in front of the house in Jersey City a half hour later than Tony Adams expected and when he saw his youngest stumble from the car with a bruise on his cheek, he understood.

"Cristo santo! Carlo Davide, what have you done?"

The twenty-five year old lingered behind the open door of his car for a moment before advancing toward his father. "Pop, I need to talk to you."

"Cristo, Carlo! Your little brother? You idiot!" Tony was furious and rightly so with what his family was going through.

"Dad, just listen to me a second. It was Nicky. He's not okay, Pop. I don't know what I can do for him." Carlo's voice was exasperated.

Tony swallowed. His eldest boy was taking his time climbing out of the Chevy Impala, but his efforts to prolong confrontation were useless. Even with Tony's bad knee, his stride was only partially faltering. He could feel Carlo at his heels when he ordered Matthew into the house, who retorted: "Pop, it's not a big deal.

Let's just spend some time with the family. C'mon I just got home."

Tony waved him off, turning his attention to Nicky. "Talk, boy."

Nicky looked no larger than a child. It was his thirteen-year-old son before him. The one he failed fifteen years ago. This thirteen-year-old Nicholas had been haunting his son ever since his abuse. Now, the ghost was apparent to Tony and it would remain so for it had unfinished business. Or so it felt this way. Tony was certain that his conscience was in the clutches of something evil.

"Nicholas!" He prompted him once more in a warning tone. Nicky's face was blotchy and tear-stained. He shrank under Tony's gaze, but he forced himself to look at his son. For too long he looked in the other direction.

"I can't talk, Pop. I can't." He removed his eyes from his sneakers and looked somewhere between his father and brother.

Carlo took a step closer. "It's okay, Nicky. Let's just go inside and take a load off."

"I'm going home." Nicky said, almost inaudibly.

"What? No, take it easy for a second. Get your shit together, bro." Carlo's voice shook.

Tony put a hand on Carlo's shoulder, hoping it would relax him. There wasn't a way to help Nicky in an emotional state. Emotions were what chased Nicky away.

"I can't stand this...what I caused. I need to go and fix my... head." He let out a long breath and pushed his fingers through his hair. "Tell Ma I'm sorry."

"Nicky-boy, stop this. Don't think right now. You're thinking too much, son. Go walking, go to sleep, don't run from us again." Tony reached for him, not surprised when he stepped out of contact. "Son." He breathed, reattempting and securing his son between himself, in his arms, and the car. Nicky didn't struggle. Instead, he rested his chin on his father's shoulder and whispered "I'm sorry" to him. "Shhh don't think, boy. Just breathe." He slowly massaged his neck with his fingers. It did nothing to soothe his pounding heart.

His voice was quiet, but an octave higher than normal. "Please, Papa. Let me go."

Tony didn't want to. "Let us be with you. Papa will fix you, my boy. Papa will fix you." He could feel how weak Nicky was, especially when Tony finally released him and had to steady him by the shoulders. Carlo's voice couldn't have been softer. "Nick, let us take you in."

"No, Carlo! Why won't you listen to me? You won't understand this. Ever! I can't help you. I shouldn't have told you, because there's nothing you can do to help me. I know you want to, Pop, and you think you can fix it, but you can't. Just let me deal with this myself! Please!"

Carlo seized his arm, hastily. "Pop picked you up off the floor, Nicky! If he hadn't, how long would it have been until you drank yourself to death, huh? How long,

Nicky? Hey!" He grabbed his other arm, unsuccessful at eliciting a response. "I'll tell you what, either you walk into that house right now or I'll drag your sorry ass in myself. It's your choice, but we are not letting you out of here like that again."

"Get your hands off me, Carlo!" Nicky's blue eyes were filled with rage.

Tony laid a hand on Carlo's back. His sigh lasted a beat and it was in reluctance when he finally said, "Let him go." Nicky took off in a slow pace, feeling no need to make a true getaway. He was welcomed to leave. He hurt his brother, he was an obvious mess, and his family - though God bless 'em, they tried - couldn't handle his behaviour. They all knew it was best to let Nicky be, no matter the risk he was to himself. He wasn't the son they thought they had. They didn't know him. They couldn't help him.

Nicky returned home in so hazy a state that he hardly remembered which form of transportation he even took. Bus. Always the bus. He was just drawing his fragmented thoughts to a close when he saw the sign announcing that they were 12 miles from Philly. He realized this at the same time as W.C. Fields' words came to mind: "On the whole, I'd rather be in Philadelphia." How true.

He would be there within the hour. He would be home within an hour and a half. He imagined he'd be half-naked puking on the bathroom floor by the time two hours had passed.

- FRIDAY - 6 AM -

Shawn threw himself down on yet another folding chair in front of yet another detective's desk in the same precinct bullpen. He was passed his already limited ability for patience and sat angrily with his arms folded, praying for someone to tell him he could go home. At this point, after hearing the words "Are you sure you weren't just dreaming?", Shawn was questioning himself on whether he had really heard and seen and felt what he thought he'd heard, seen, and felt.

Detective Marissa Sanders leaned in, placing her elbows on the oak desk in front of her. It was Jonathon who gave her a response. "He saw what he saw. And I believe him." He added in a gruff tone.

"Okay." She said with a frown, clicking her pen against her chest and jotting something down on her legal pad. It was past sunrise and the police precinct reflected such. Fresh faces with neatly combed hair and scrubbed faces emerged from entrances, relieving their tired looking predecessors. Shawn mused, it didn't work the same way for those on the opposite side of the desk.

Mr. Turner, Mr. Hunter, I think we have everything we need. We will send a patrol car to sit outside your building for the next while to keep an eye on things. I think you boys could use some rest. Go on home and if you think of anything to add, please give me a call." The brunette woman said, placing her card between

Jonathon's fingers. Shawn knew what she really meant. They should call if suddenly Shawn remembered he had just been dreaming like she suspected. Bitch.

So they went home. Shawn was looking forward to an undisturbed unconsciousness.

- FRIDAY - 2 AM -

Chris pulled up outside of a British Pub that looked like it had gone down under. That Nicky had wandered to this part of town from New Jersey was chilling.

The call he received regarding his once partner's whereabouts was disturbing. The tell-tale sounds of a man puking could be heard in the background. These were over the voice of a man he had never met. "I got your number from this lad who's not feeling so hot. He's been throwing them back all evening. Please, get him out of here. There's only so much I can ask my new employees to clean up before they quit on me."

Chris had just gotten home when Emily passed him the phone. He half expected the news he received to be concerning Nicky's death and took the phone in both hands to control their tremor.

He kissed his fiance goodbye on his way out the door with a promise to explain everything to her once he returned. He didn't know why he promised, especially since it was easier not to trouble her with the information. She didn't like Nicky. She never had and asking her to sympathize with him made Chris feel uncomfortable.

She wasn't underwhelmed to hear that Nicky had been molested by his hockey coach as a child. Nonetheless, she didn't spend a lifetime growing up next to him and so she found no reason to excuse his behaviour. To her, Nicky was a drunk and a strain on her relationship with Chris. He hated to admit it, but Chris realized that he lacked the will to help his fianc? understand. He saw her point too clearly and he didn't know how else to help his friend.

Nicky's head was in the toilet when Chris found his way to the restroom. The man he spoke to on the phone was more than eager to see him and handed him a plastic bag with a convincing "Trust me. You'll need it." "Thanks." Chris said, stuffing it in his back pocket as the man ducked out of the bathroom. "Nick, wrap it up. I'm taking you home."

Nicky coughed violently in response.

"What are you doing back here anyway? I thought your dad was taking care of you."

All Nicky could manage was a shake of his head before he returned it to the toilet and began upheaving the rest of his stomach content. "Nicky, this is getting out of hand. I love you, brother, but I can't keep running out on Emily like this thinking every time that this might be the time you've actually drank yourself to death." Harsh.

This time Chris watched as the smaller man's vomiting ceased long enough for him to gag on what could have been a response. "Alright, that's enough! I can't stand here all night. Get your ass off the floor, man." Chris barked when the puking stopped for longer than a minute. He stepped in behind his former partner and lifted him to his feet by both of his arms. "Oh God!" Nicky spluttered, reaching back to grasp Chris. "Oh, I'm so dizzy. Stop, I need to puke!"

Chris grimaced. "No, just...use the bag, man. I'm taking you home. But if you puke in my car, I'll knock you out, okay?"

He guided Nicky out of the pub holding one of his arms around his neck and the other pinning to his side to prevent him from fighting him. "No, come on. Just leave me here." There were more protests - though, in Italian. The language made little difference to Chris, anyway. He shoved Nicky in the car and sped off for his friend's apartment before he could upchuck all over the upholstery. Unfortunately, this distraction prevented him from noticing the brown-panelled station wagon tailing him.

- FRIDAY - 11:45 AM -

Shawn lay very still on his right side for a long time. It was so long that he felt compelled to turn over onto his left side to even out as if he was a broiling hotdog. It was almost noon and not a wink of sleep had come over Shawn since they arrived home from the police station. He was so tired that he was wide-awake. But he was always the kind of kid who rose and dosed in accordance to the sun. It used to drive his mother crazy the way he'd bounce into the living room at sunrise looking for his breakfast. Having spent the better part of the night dealing with her drunken husband, Virna was too tired to deal with a hyper tot. When Shawn finally realized that his needs would never be met by his mother, he began fending for himself. This was the beginning of his shoplifting days.

Shawn sat up in bed and slipped his feet into his shoes. He could hear Jonathon snoring even from across the hall and, though he had no desire for any extra attention from Jonathon, he willed his feet to make little noise as he exited the apartment in order to let his exhausted guardian rest. He thought, at least one of them should be able to.

He knew Jonathon would be pissed if he knew that he left. It wasn't easy getting used to having a caregiver want you around. It was annoying as hell for Shawn. Not to mention confusing. Jonathon was far from strict with Shawn, but when he left without letting him know, he'd punish him by making him stay in. That communicated to Shawn that he shouldn't like to stay in. Only he did. With Jon, that is.

The sun overhead greeted his already burning eyes with an overwhelming glow that made him wince as he stepped out of the apartment building. He rubbed his eyes with balled up fists before he pressed on down the street. He was reminded of countless days that he abandoned the trailer park at opportune moments and raced to Cory's house. It didn't matter what had just been happening at home, because when he got to the Matthew's humble abode smack dead in the middle of Suburbia, all of the ugly remained in the trailer park. It was one hundred times as distant in his mind as the physical distance and that brought Shawn peace for the time being.

Now, Shawn felt like his problems had escaped from the Pink Flamingo. They were oozing all over Philadelphia like an epidemic. They multiplied and his nightmares just got worse. He recalled the look on that lady detective's face when he testified that he was not dreaming when heard someone in the apartment. Nothing could have made that door slam shut and lock by itself. His terror would never be over.

His legs carried him along a less familiar path than one that led him to Cory. He was told not too long ago that there was someone who understood what he was feeling. Someone who could look back and say that all of that bullshit happened in the past. That it isn't happening anymore. That they could begin the healing process or whatever new age crap they believe in. And then, just as fast as it would have taken Shawn to nosedive off of that hospital roof, Nicky disappeared from his life. While Shawn was still a little groggy about whether he made the right choice of refraining from making brain stew on the pavement, he still was willing to believe the man who told him that his life could get better. That eventually, he would grow out of his victim wear and into his big boy life. He just needed to know how and when and where Nicky got off thinking that his job was done here. He hardly expected the detective to be able to wave his magic wand and cause him to be fixed. He knew it would take more than just a little TLC and an after-school-special-style pep talk, but still something drew him to the man that made him believe in tomorrow. Literally, Nicky made him see another day. That wasn't something Shawn could easily forget.

So there he was, making his way up to the building he'd just visited not even 12 hours earlier. With Jonathon. Though it was unlikely that Nicky would be home at noon if he wasn't home in the middle of the night, Shawn had questions and he was approaching Nicky's apartment like behind that door he could find tangible answers to those questions.

...

UNTIL NEXT TIME. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK.

BEST,

MEG