Todd Revisited: Seeking (Chapter 4)

Being outside this mansion, standing by the gardens, near the french doors, hadn't changed much. From what he could remember, he had been there before, in the same spot, precisely the same spot, many times before. Running through his own memory, he sought to grab something bigger and longer and more tangible than just a snapshot. But in his effort to try, his attention was solicited by the movement of her inside the house. In what looked to be a library, at her desk, was the woman he felt was his sister.

I have a sister, her name is Vicki. I do have a sister.

And once again he flashed on that moment in a cemetary. "A cemetary? Who was dying or who was dead, or better, who was it they cared about or what brought them to that place together?" Each of these mental photographs of his past seemed more elusive than the one before. Unlike a photo album, he could not stop and gaze at them for as long as he wanted; they faded before he could study them enough for it to matter.

He watched her. She was on the phone, her hair had a familiar flounce to it, the blond similar to Starr's. The home was opulent, decorated richly in a style he couldn't love but still considered comforting. He put his hands on the gold handles to the french doors, and paused. In his mind, he couldn't think what he would say or how he would proceed. What would she say to him?

"Excuse me, Vicki," his mind's eye showed him what he might expect.

"Yes, can I . . . AAAAAAA!" And with the wild-eyed scream, his sister would fall to the floor, and he would run to her, fanning her with his hands.

Bringing himself to his senses again, he waited and listened for a few moments to her phone call. She was talking about The Banner and not needing sleaze to sell papers. At this, he raised an eyebrow, not even certain why. He let his mind roam again to the possibility of talking to her.

"I think you're my sister." His voice said.

She turned abuptly, and matter of factly said, "THAT is SIMPLY OUT OF THE QUESTION! I couldn't be related to someone like YOU. Besides, I have a brother already."

The sound of a person coming into the room caused him to stop himself from opening the doors. It was Jessica. He knew she was his niece, and the obligatory voice reminded him. I have a niece. Her name is Jessica.

In his mind, he mocked himself, "I know, I know, I have a niece, her name is Jessica. Her name is . . ."

A blustering wind blew and he pulled his collar up a bit around his neck. He now questioned what he was doing taking on this mission of mercy for Marty, however it would pan out. But, in his haste, he had knocked the stuffing out of Patrick Thornhardt, and hoped he wouldn't hold it against him later. He walked into the misty, dark wooded area outside The Wild Swan, and after a few steps, heard them call to him. He paused, then continued, in his headstrong way into the foot fog, when he heard it. A loud, popping sound that punctuated everything around him, and then he felt it, the searing pain in his back, and dropped to his knees.

Not more than a few seconds passed, but to him, in the time and time again he had gone over it in his mind, it was a lifetime. Things passed through his mind he had not thought of in years. Voices called to him from all areas of his heart and consciousness. And the last second, before he fell forward into the mire, he realized she was right to fear him leaving. "Blair," he said, before hitting the ground. How he had managed to grasp the Celtic Cross Marty gave him for courage, he never understood. Still today, he could never forgive himself for going to Ireland in the first place, and later for other things, and before . . .

The next thing he knew, Vicki and Jessica were gone, and he was alone outside the house. He turned his attention back to the doors and went in. "Neat and aristocratic, like her," he thought. Then he saw a younger image of himself that was somehow still estranged from who he was at that moment. It was as if a bank of murkiness was between them. But it was him, and next to him was Vicki. His sister. And another picture of someone who bore no resemblance to him or to her or to Jack or to Starr or to anyone for that matter, also with Vicki.

Panic started to overtake him as he felt that feeling again, the one he could not control. Since he had made his way out of The Facility and into Llanview, he had experienced it several times, usually when he was overcome with nausea from seeking memory. Voices again from everywhere, every corner of his mind, Blair, Tea, talking about him, but not him, the man they considered him, or maybe Todd Manning, or whoever he was or the man he would see in the mirror every day, or this man...this man in the picture...and his knees gave out.

Falling to one knee, he rested momentarily, and the pain began. Mixed with the noises, he attempted, as always, to close it out, and before he could think about the outcome, he smashed the picture on the floor and suddenly, the noises and voices and pain stopped.

Recovering, he found himself sitting back against the floral sofa, breathing deeply as if he had just run a race. He closed his eyes to try and regain balance before getting up . . .

The inside of a car was a pretty dark place to be. Even for him. He had searched the entire inside with his fingers from the one arm he could move, gunning for a latch, a crack, a knob. Nothing. There was no doubt in his mind what happened next as he experienced it. The car was FALLING, almost floating and turning so much he was pressed against the top of the trunk, and he caught his own breath. Determined not to cry out, scream or sob, he plotted. As he was thrown back to the bottom of the trunk, somehow, by the grace of God or Something Else, the edge of the trunk hit against a rock in precisely a way to destroy the hatch. With his head, he butted the trunk until it was open enough to see through, and then it happened. The plunging noise of hitting water. And he was in the trunk, in the Irish sea, going to be drowned before he saw his baby daughter born.

A key in the door startled him to his feet, and he exited through the French doors onto the patio by the gardens. He waited there and listened, and realized the broken photo and open doors would alert whoever it was. It was Vicki. He moved behind a bush and waited. He heard her come onto the patio and call out if anyone was there. In him, the urge to answer her was powerful but the fear of her response made his feet idle. He waited.