Todd Revisited: Displaced (Chapter 22)

He watched as his sister left the room to set up his bed. Had he been mistaken in sharing his hatred of Victor on his sleeve earlier? He hoped not. Not ten feet from where he was sitting, in the couch in Llanfair's library, was the stairwell where he had learned first hand about Victor's legacy from Viki. The night before his wedding. The wedding during which he showered the love of his life in gold, and then promptly left her to pull some hero act with Marty. Regrets were usually not his thing, but this one had reared its head so often. They were so happy. Then Ireland, the injuries, the nightmares, and the truth, his truth, the one that no one really fully shared with him, except maybe The Coach, who was...who was dead. He turned to lie on his side, and his thoughts faded into another time.


This time he was not in the glen. The room was familiar, in a deep-seated sense. He was standing in the living room, across from a young girl, who held a birthday cake out to him. He had that young boy elation in his soul, sort of unlike anything else his fourteen years had brought him. Now, looking back, he knew it was a mixture of testosterone and belonging. The girl smiled, and said, "Are you going to light the candles?"

He saw himself venture into another room, a place he knew he shouldn't be, and saw his young hands open a drawer he shouldn't open and take something out, and, looking up, there was Tom. He knew Tom well already, from other times, years before, when Tom had shown up. And though he hadn't remembered it before, he did, clearly, now. He had met Tom the first time his father had burned him with the lighter, when he was nine. That wasn't when Tom was born, of course, but that was when he was first able to talk to him and know he was there. According to Tom, he was born when Todd was six, when he was shaken from sleep, held against the wall by his throat, and made to kneel on uncooked rice until he bled. Tom had stepped in that night for him, and many other nights, but he didn't even know it until later. "No, Todd, put that back."

"I gotta light the candles, Tom, leave me alone."

"Todd, gees, no, come on. He's gonna be mad at you. At us I mean."

"I can take what he does to me, I have before."

"What about those other times? The ones where I had to take the punishments for ya?"

Todd felt guilt rise in his throat. "I'm sorry, Tom."

"You don't have to be sorry to me, I'm your friend, and I don't really mind. Plus, sometimes you take it for me. But why get him all mad? Put the lighter back."

He saw himself take it, relish holding the cool metal, and ignore Tom. He felt powerful then, and walked back to the girl with the cake. Smiling, he reached out with the flame in hand. He started to light the candles, when the door flew open, and Peter stepped into the room in a rage.

He jerked awake, sitting up. Lilly, who was mending a sock or two by the fireplace, looked over. "You need somethin', Lad?"

He shook his head. "No, Lilly. But I know my name. I'm not Tom, I'm Todd."

She walked to the bedside and pulled up a chair. Sitting, she reached out and patted his hand. "All right, Todd. You're doing good, Lad."

He didn't want her pity or to hurt her. "Thank you, darlin," he said.

She looked at him, puzzled. "Lad, you're as perplexin' as a banshee's wailin' song. You're not Tom, then?"

"No, milady," he began mocking her accent in jest, "seems I'm not." Then, more seriously, "But I know who he is."