After Natalie let him have it with the description of the truth about his son, Todd was determined to find him. He knew it was going to be an uphill battle, but bigger even than that. It was more difficult than an uphill battle while carrying two kids on his back. For a moment, he flashed on the seconds that he reached the top of the mountain with CJ on his back and Jessica cradled in his arms. And he had made it, somehow, he had found the strength to get them to the top, and then, go back for Marty, and do the same with her.
Jack had been destroyed by having Victor as his father. This Todd knew. Blair was defenseless, in her own way, against the mechanisms of a pseudo-savant who was playing brainwash. As much as he loved her, she was no Einstein. As much as he loved her. He so deeply knew he did, the question was, what could he do about it, and why didn't she seem to feel the same? Or why wouldn't she let herself be with him?
The conversation with her began with the typical shouting back and forth, who blames who, same old song. Until he saw the pain in her face, he would have proceeded, but he knew he had changed. It had taken years, loss, near death, and eight years of torture and separation, but he had changed. None of them could even see it yet; it was too early and their wounds were all still open from the havoc of Victor. Nevertheless, her face showed how hard it had been to raise her children essentially alone, since Todd would never count Victor as a parent to his children, after the things he did to both of them. He was certain, as he stood there, that there was more than met the eye regarding Jack and his beloved Victor.
She was surprised when he attempted to take the blame for everything Jack was, because in his heart, he knew that he had something to do with it. Jack's start as an angelic faced baby that smiled at every turn had been thwarted by being separated from his own mother, at Todd's doing. He'd never forgive himself for that now, especially since it seemed it doomed Jack from the start. But Blair had other ideas. She truly believed that there was hope for Jack, and that he was better than both of them. Though he'd never admit it, Todd was not sure of that.
Reflecting back on the conversation with her, he realized how much he did not want to have it end the way it did, or be as short as it was, or as full of blame. He wanted to do it over, and at some point he would, he'd find a way. His heart had never been torn at as much as it did when she began to cry. Her tears always brought something from within him to the surface. So, he had reached to touch her in comfort, and the next thing he knew, she was in his arms, and he held her, turning his head toward her to be able to take in the smell of her hair, which hadn't changed much, when Jack stormed in.
He'd been faced with a lot of anger in his life, but to see his own son seething at him was a switch. He had always been the seething son, and here he was, the father in the mix. And slowly, he was starting to see what had been created in his absence, and how deeply wounded his child was. Jack's words cut like knives, but Todd was resilient; he had been through worse and would probably face more along the way. But the bitterness in his son was palpable and real. He and Blair had stood there in the wake of it, hearing the echoes of "Scarface" through the room.
He had promised they'd fix it, and they would. And in the past, he did fix things, but never the right way. He promised himself right then that it would be the right way and not in a way to hurt anyone ever again. If only he had thought this way fifteen years ago, things could have been so much different for all of them.
He wasn't afraid, even though he probably should have been. Some doctor's warning had never been enough to stop him. Even a seeping stab wound and an admonition had not curtailed his efforts to leave the hospital to try and save Rebecca from Powell, with Blair's help of course. And, it occurred to him, even then she was always his partner in crime - in everything.
He missed her enough to know it was time. How he would do it was the question, but the idea of leaving was the answer. And he would, whatever it took.
He searched his mind for Tom, who was nowhere in sight, and in truth, he missed him terribly already. Tom was, as simple as he was, a touchstone and a way to smooth things over in his head since The Big Truth had made itself known. Now the question was, 'Is The Big Truth the reason I left to go to Ireland?' Did something make him leave and draw him to the occasion of near-death, so all could be revealed? These were queries he'd been tossing about since the first time he remembered his name.
Within him, he knew that he would never have another child. There could be no other child brought into this world with a father like him. He was unstable, had other people running around in his mind, his adoptive father was a rapist and a sadist, his biological father was a pedophile. He had no model of what or who to be, and he was even terrified of the baby that was coming, a baby girl. But running away wouldn't solve it because in him was a draw even greater; to have a family and to be loved. He had so much trouble facing both of those things over the years, but they were larger than life for him. He wanted a family. A real one. He wanted to have this with Blair. Not the kinds of things he remembered in The Big Truth as family, but the things he had watched in other families and viewed in television sitcoms. He knew it was out there, he just had to make it his own. And the time was right for him, because soon, Blair would be having their baby, and wrapping it in white packaging, and carrying it with care from place to place, and setting the little one near her heart, and letting him set them both near his.
He searched his mind again, this time with dread, for Pete. Nothing was there. He called to him, "Pete. I know you're there, show yourself, or are you afraid of ME now?"
Nothing.
"Pete, let's go. What are you, a girl? A woman? Come out here and face me."
Nothing.
He spoke aloud to himself, "Oh great, Todd, as if Pete's going to get enraged by YOU?" Then it came to him. A test. He had to experience one final test to be certain Pete was under control and that he held that control in his grasp. He returned to his bed, crawled in, and hit the buzzer. A nurse followed a few minutes later.
"Yes Mr. Manning?"
"I hate that name. Anyway, I want to see that doctor, the one, you know that Johan guy. I am requesting to have a session with him."
Jack had been destroyed by having Victor as his father. This Todd knew. Blair was defenseless, in her own way, against the mechanisms of a pseudo-savant who was playing brainwash. As much as he loved her, she was no Einstein. As much as he loved her. He so deeply knew he did, the question was, what could he do about it, and why didn't she seem to feel the same? Or why wouldn't she let herself be with him?
The conversation with her began with the typical shouting back and forth, who blames who, same old song. Until he saw the pain in her face, he would have proceeded, but he knew he had changed. It had taken years, loss, near death, and eight years of torture and separation, but he had changed. None of them could even see it yet; it was too early and their wounds were all still open from the havoc of Victor. Nevertheless, her face showed how hard it had been to raise her children essentially alone, since Todd would never count Victor as a parent to his children, after the things he did to both of them. He was certain, as he stood there, that there was more than met the eye regarding Jack and his beloved Victor.
She was surprised when he attempted to take the blame for everything Jack was, because in his heart, he knew that he had something to do with it. Jack's start as an angelic faced baby that smiled at every turn had been thwarted by being separated from his own mother, at Todd's doing. He'd never forgive himself for that now, especially since it seemed it doomed Jack from the start. But Blair had other ideas. She truly believed that there was hope for Jack, and that he was better than both of them. Though he'd never admit it, Todd was not sure of that.
Reflecting back on the conversation with her, he realized how much he did not want to have it end the way it did, or be as short as it was, or as full of blame. He wanted to do it over, and at some point he would, he'd find a way. His heart had never been torn at as much as it did when she began to cry. Her tears always brought something from within him to the surface. So, he had reached to touch her in comfort, and the next thing he knew, she was in his arms, and he held her, turning his head toward her to be able to take in the smell of her hair, which hadn't changed much, when Jack stormed in.
He'd been faced with a lot of anger in his life, but to see his own son seething at him was a switch. He had always been the seething son, and here he was, the father in the mix. And slowly, he was starting to see what had been created in his absence, and how deeply wounded his child was. Jack's words cut like knives, but Todd was resilient; he had been through worse and would probably face more along the way. But the bitterness in his son was palpable and real. He and Blair had stood there in the wake of it, hearing the echoes of "Scarface" through the room.
He had promised they'd fix it, and they would. And in the past, he did fix things, but never the right way. He promised himself right then that it would be the right way and not in a way to hurt anyone ever again. If only he had thought this way fifteen years ago, things could have been so much different for all of them.
He wasn't afraid, even though he probably should have been. Some doctor's warning had never been enough to stop him. Even a seeping stab wound and an admonition had not curtailed his efforts to leave the hospital to try and save Rebecca from Powell, with Blair's help of course. And, it occurred to him, even then she was always his partner in crime - in everything.
He missed her enough to know it was time. How he would do it was the question, but the idea of leaving was the answer. And he would, whatever it took.
He searched his mind for Tom, who was nowhere in sight, and in truth, he missed him terribly already. Tom was, as simple as he was, a touchstone and a way to smooth things over in his head since The Big Truth had made itself known. Now the question was, 'Is The Big Truth the reason I left to go to Ireland?' Did something make him leave and draw him to the occasion of near-death, so all could be revealed? These were queries he'd been tossing about since the first time he remembered his name.
Within him, he knew that he would never have another child. There could be no other child brought into this world with a father like him. He was unstable, had other people running around in his mind, his adoptive father was a rapist and a sadist, his biological father was a pedophile. He had no model of what or who to be, and he was even terrified of the baby that was coming, a baby girl. But running away wouldn't solve it because in him was a draw even greater; to have a family and to be loved. He had so much trouble facing both of those things over the years, but they were larger than life for him. He wanted a family. A real one. He wanted to have this with Blair. Not the kinds of things he remembered in The Big Truth as family, but the things he had watched in other families and viewed in television sitcoms. He knew it was out there, he just had to make it his own. And the time was right for him, because soon, Blair would be having their baby, and wrapping it in white packaging, and carrying it with care from place to place, and setting the little one near her heart, and letting him set them both near his.
He searched his mind again, this time with dread, for Pete. Nothing was there. He called to him, "Pete. I know you're there, show yourself, or are you afraid of ME now?"
Nothing.
"Pete, let's go. What are you, a girl? A woman? Come out here and face me."
Nothing.
He spoke aloud to himself, "Oh great, Todd, as if Pete's going to get enraged by YOU?" Then it came to him. A test. He had to experience one final test to be certain Pete was under control and that he held that control in his grasp. He returned to his bed, crawled in, and hit the buzzer. A nurse followed a few minutes later.
"Yes Mr. Manning?"
"I hate that name. Anyway, I want to see that doctor, the one, you know that Johan guy. I am requesting to have a session with him."
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