Todd Revisited: Battle (Chapter 33)

He would have to shirk off the memories, and pull himself together.  Before McBain came to get him, he would bring himself to McBain's door, directly.  He put his fingers through his hair, and held his head.  It felt light.  Pete was pestering him, and the only thing that ever silenced Pete for a while was Blair.  Her voice.  Her eyes.  Her hair.  Her lips.  The way she loved him; first accepting his hand, next accepting his mouth. Then, she would accept his tongue, and not long after, one of his hands pinning hers, the other tangled in her hair, she would accept him inside her.  She always did and would accept him.  At least, that was how he remembered it.  


Of course, the night of the premier, when he had pulled her to him and kissed her, she did not resist.  In fact, he had felt the familiar touch of her hand on his scar, and her holding his hands, even after he pulled away.  She knew it was me.  Why was she still doing the same denial stuff she always did?  He would have to speak to her about that some day soon.


"Talk to her?  Forget that bitch, she's not good enough for you, probably screwing half the town.  The way she always was."


Pete was relentless lately.  As things got more stressful and he had less support, both Tom and Pete were making more noise in his head, and he struggled to keep control.


"Back off."  He said aloud, realizing he was nearing the police station.


"Make me.  Pansy."  Pete was angry, callous, hurt.  Todd squinted his eyes and pushed Pete back, into a darker area.  His fear was facing His Dark Mass again, which was worse than Pete altogether, because he, Tom and Pete all just ceased to be.


"Back off!"  he said again.


"Pete, stop it.  Leave Todd alone."  Tom said.  And without warning, Tom shoved Pete into the darkness and he vanished, at least for a while.


"Tom, I'm surprised at you.  Where did you get so ballsy?"  He said in his head.


Tom just shrugged with a big smile.


Todd walked into the police station and sauntered up to John McBain.  "You wanted to see me?"


What followed next was a cloud of conflict and uncertainty, when during his talk with McBain, in which he asserted his innocence, he mentioned the gun that had been given to Louie.  John was off to locate it, and Tea walked into the precinct, and burst into the holding room where he was waiting.


"I'm sorry about your husband.  He was a fraud, but he was your fraud . . ."  and the slap stung his face.  


It did not take long for him to realize that Tea was more bitter than he could remember.  She was the one who helped him see that Blair and the children were his life, and watched him go from the island.  Yet, here she stood, staunchly supporting his brother Victor, the love of her life, and downing him at every turn.  Within a matter of minutes he was hearing things about himself that he hoped most people had let go of over the last almost 20 years, one being the rape of Marty Saybrooke.  But Tea was relentless.  And, by the end of the conversation, she had not only refused to take his case, but also let John know, in no uncertain terms, that she would do whatever it took to put him away for the murder.  Except, she wasn't seeing one important fact.  He was not guilty.


McBain, he still couldn't read.  In all honesty, he doubted McBain's certainty about his guilt.  Even though he had been unable to locate Louie, John had let him go.  And he headed directly to La Boulaie, to see Starr and Blair.  Someone had to believe him.  His daughter answered the door, and there, with her, was Tomas Delgado's son, Baz, the music kid.  He was in no mood for any other Delgado this day, so made sure the kid ran off, intimidated, and talked to Starr.  He had to make it clear; he did not kill the uncle she knew as her father all those years while he was gone.  And then it happened - she reached across to him, and hugged him, saying, "I believe you, Dad."  He had never heard finer words.


He was not sure what to do next, or where to go, since he was uncertain about Viki's being a place he could stay.  Instead, he wandered around the park, and finding his favorite bench, the one he talked with Blair on all those years ago, he sat and looked up to a sky full of stars and small clouds.  He breathed in.  He was free.  It had been so long since he had the chance to experience outside.  All those years inside the same room.  Between druggings, and after torture, they always gave him 20 minutes or so to try and forget the pain and horror.  He would think about Blair, mostly.  He'd imagine holding his hand out and waiting for her to take it.  He'd imagine all different ways and moments they had loved each other, and sometimes, alone, he could pretend he was with her.  In his struggle to feel some semblance of good, he'd resort to anything to counteract the pain and find release.  


Now, he could stare at the sky as long as he wanted; he could imagine her, but if he were not too proud, he could actually touch her . . . instead . . .


"You are just like Bitsy.  A woman.  Sitting here ruminating about that bitch."  Pete stepped out of the shadows in his mind's eye.  


"Pete."


"Yeah, what of it?  You always let everyone walk on you, don't ya?  First Peter, God knows he had his way with you, and now everyone else, even a woman."


He was tired.  His feet felt like lead, and even if not, where would they take him?  He was emotionally spent, and out of words.  He searched his mind's eye for Tom.  "Tom?"


He received no answer from Tom.  Pete walked forward, closer.  "Tom?" he mocked.  "I pushed that faggot out of sight for a long time."


Lacking the energy to fight the fight, he lie sideways on the bench.  He closed his eyes.  "Pete, leave me alone.  Please."


Pete, for a reason that was unclear, stepped back.  Instead, Todd closed his eyes and actually began to sleep.  Pete was taken aback; Todd did not enjoy sleep or seek it, but in this case, he had embraced it.  "I'll be back to get you tomorrow, just like I did so many other times before."  And, Todd slept, dreamless for only a short while.


So, Todd and Tom finally slept there in the Swiss clinic, and Pete fought the demons all night.  And the next day, Pete was in control, for most of the day, Todd fought but not winning long, he succumbed to Pete's control more often, and was aware.  They napped, Pete fighting the demons, and once burning Peter with his own lighter.  Todd didn't mind it much, he just feared when his dreams were of Blair what Pete might do.  But he was losing the battle, and Pete was just stronger.


Later that night, the doctor came to call.  "Mr. Manning, how are you this evening?"


Pete purposely stepped back.  "I'm fine."


"I see you rested?"  


"Yes."  Awkwardly, "I . . . I'm sorry for the bad language yesterday.  That was rude."


The doctor took his pulse.  "No worries.  You were quite distressed.  In fact, if I had money to wager, I'd say you were under a great deal of stress.  Quite a great deal."


Todd didn't answer.  Tom elbowed him, and he pushed Tom to the side.  "Somewhat."


"It was a long road to recovery, I am sure.  Your wounds are all healing nicely.  Even these."  He brought Todd's attention to the new cuts and lacerations on his own wrists, inflicted by himself.  "Mr. Manning?"


"Can you call me Todd?  Mr. Manning was my . . . my father."  He swallowed.


"Ok, Todd.  Todd, is there someone you really trust?"


"I don't know what you mean?"  He said, thinking of Tom and Pete first.  Even though they plagued him, he trusted them, above all others.  


"A person you really trust, can talk to about anything, without fear of being judged?"


He thought about it.  He could trust Blair with almost anything, heck most of it she knew without being told, but some he would keep from her intentionally so she would not break.  She never could handle what he recently learned had happened to him.  It would destroy her.  Once he was back with her and the baby, he'd be all right.  He thought of Ray, his therapist from Statesville.  He had held back with Ray, and now wished he didn't.  He thought of Lilly, of Aman, of Viki.  "Yeah, there are a few people like that, I guess."


"Can I contact one of them for you?  I can tell that you really need help, and I fear what will happen without it."


Todd saw Pete pushing his way forward, and in his weakness, he let him out.  "No you fucking can't.  Back off, asshole."


"Todd?"


"Todd."  He laughed, deeply, like a horror-slasher.  "Fuck that loser!  You're dealing with me now, Doc."


"All right.  And, who are you?"  The doctor showed no sign of being intimidated by Pete's bellowing.


"Pete.  Who else?"


"Hi Pete, nice to meet you."


"No it's not, and you know it.  No one wants to meet me, and if you think you do, I'll make you regret it."


"All right.  So, Pete, what is it that you and Todd are running from, then?"


Pete was stunned.  He never expected what he heard.  He reached up and grabbed the doctor by the collar and shook him.  "You back off, you white coat.  You won't like me angry."


The doctor didn't flinch, instead, he played the cards he imagined he held.  "What are you AFRAID of, Pete?  Is it . . . is it your father and what he did?"


Pete grabbed a hold of the doctor's neck and started to squeeze.  It felt better than he had felt in weeks.  Looking down, he saw the doctor's face redden and before he knew it, a pinch was felt in his forearm, and he let go.  "Bastard!"  Pete, in his confusion, backed into the darkness, and faded off to sleep.