Todd Revisited: Birth (Chapter 15)

Then, it happened. Blair flipped back her hair, and the interviewer asked her about her earrings. His eyes soaked in the little, pearly danglers hanging off her lobes, and for a moment, nothing registered. "They were a gift from my ex-husband." 


"Which one?"  he thought, thinking of their past, and suddenly, a feeling of recognition came over him.  Jumping from his seat, he ran to find the photo.  The photo of The Gold Balloon Wedding, the one he took from where Blair left it.  He ran to find it, and putting his hands on it, brought it into the light and focused his attention on the details.  


"The earrings.  I gave you those earrings."  A feeling of overwhelming validation came into his heart, and traveled up through his shoulders like a wave of relaxation.  Encouraged, he began to think of what it could mean.  Did she remember him?  Did she KNOW?  One thing was certain, she kept them.  They meant something to her, which lead to him meaning something to her.


"I think maybe I'm going to a party," he said aloud, picking up John's discarded tuxedo.  


Heading into the bathroom, he felt like he did the day he planned the airplane ride for her after the fiasco with Vickers and Dorian.  He had taken his mother's diary then, and spent time reading it while Blair was off helping Dorian bring David to his knees.  Literally.  His stomach felt slightly queasy, in the way it did when he was waiting for her in the limousine that night, Halloween sixteen years earlier.  Sixteen years, and he still could remember every feeling and every moment he was with her.  How she wore Marilyn Monroe's costume, down to the beauty mark on her cheek, her hair surrounding her face with loose, large curls that danced on her shoulders.  As he looked into the mirror at his reflection, his eyes still skimming the scar even today, his eyes clouded over.  


It wasn't long after that he ended up in the Irish sea, without her.  It was by his own doing, that he went off and left her.  He'd never fully given himself admonition for it.  Never, even after he returned, and saw her . . . with Patrick . . . it had given him an excuse to hate her, but he loved her more, and everything seemed to crumble in front of him, until he met his baby girl.  But, not even Starr, reaching out with her little hands, could take away the darkness he knew he still harbored inside himself.  That darkness, he knew, started long before Ireland, and even before Marty's rape.  That darkness was inside of him and probably always would be.  And, it had taken a near-death experience to comprehend and label it, but he knew what it was now, and even so, had difficulty reconciling it within himself.  


Looking into his own eyes in the reflection, he suddenly saw a young boy, an image of himself, years before.  He tilted his head to the side, smiling in a welcoming way.  He reached out and touched the reflection briefly, then said, "it's been a while, buddy.  Where ya been?"  The room began to swirl about him and his lost his balance, stumbling back against the tub, where he fell into the basin of it, and knocked his head against the back edge.  


One morning, Lilly came into the kitchen, glanced over to the bed by the window, and saw something very strange.  Their guest was propped up on one elbow, looking outside.  Curious, since he had been unable to move much, she approached him.  "Son?"


He did not respond at first, just continued to look outside.  


"Son, are you all right, lad?"


He turned to her, and she never forgot what she saw or what happened next.  In a tone barely distinguishable from a growl, he snapped, "What do you want, old woman?"


Lilly stumbled backward, and rested against the stove.  Confused, she decided to wait.


He continued, "You're lucky I can't get out of this bed.  Tired of your prayers, your praises, your face."


She did not know what to do next.  He looked the same, in some ways, but was literally transformed in front of her.  She looked directly into his eyes.  Slowly, "Son?  It's Lilly."


The sneer he made toward her then was enough to stop her heart for a second, and she crossed herself, closing her eyes.  When she opened them, the guest's face had changed, softened, and he said, "Lady, I'm really, really sorry!" and then lay back down and closed his eyes to the world. 


Lilly was shaken.  Her hands could not be steadied, and her skin was paler and greenish when Aman walked into the room, just having risen.  "Lilly, what's the matter, woman?"


She looked at him with tears brimming in her eyes.  "My God, Aman."  She broke down, and fell against his shoulder.


"There, now lass, tell me what's the matter?  For the love of St. Peter."


But she couldn't talk.  There were no words to explain it, she just knew something was terribly wrong.  She knew something was torturing their guest, could have been his past, or his dreams, or both, and she also knew that soon, both of them would meet it face to face.


He startled himself and sat up in the bathtub.  "What the hell?"  He scrambled to his feet.  Feeling the back of his head, he could touch a small bump that had formed on the back of his skull.  Before getting ice for it, he glanced himself in the mirror again, certain he should shave to look the best he could for his Blair.