Todd Revisited: Solace (Chapter 31)

It felt familiar, as Louie walked off, this being alone.  It was like every door was closed, again.  Like every adventure he was experiencing was only his.  In the past, he shared almost everything with Blair and later, with Starr, too.  Even during his first marriage to Tea, Blair had been in on everything.  This, he could remember now without problem.  It was the stuff closer to the end of his recent time in Llanview that still pained a little.  It was too hard.


Louie had taken the gun from him.  He was glad.  He was still not sure exactly why he took it from Blair, without even telling her, but he had.  What if Jack, or even Hope, had gotten a hold of it?  Blair, in all her typical ways, had left the safe OPEN for him to go in and get it, but what about the kids?  They could have done the same.  He was glad it was out of his hands.  And for another reason; he was glad he was no longer tempted and toying with using it on his own brother.  Deep down, he knew he never could do it.  Killing someone, seeing a life go out, was too much for him now.  It had happened before, and he was certain he never wanted that feeling of dread and self-hate to that degree again.  


Sitting on a bench facing the ocean, he leaned his head back and looked up.  The clouds were parting, the sun was peeking through, his suit began to dry, and he leaned himself back into a slumped position.  He was tired.  Every bone was tired, but also his heart and his mind.  He let his head hang backward and tried to relax his shoulders, and soon found himself drifting to another time and place where he was also facing whatever came his way totally alone.


The arrival at the clinic in Switzerland was uneventful.  The doctors seemed up on what they had to be; he had paid for the best and the best they were.  For a moment, in the waiting room outside Dr. Stovall's office, he wondered if he had made a mistake leaving Aman and Lilly after all.  Being out in the world on his own, many of his pains and handicaps were plaguing him, and he felt every step and every move he was making.  He still had stiffness in his back, where the shots pierced his skin, and in his legs, which were all but smashed.  Even his shoulders, that had taken the least to recover, felt every move and every swing of his luggage.  He was not an old man, but he felt desperately geriatric.


Sitting, waiting, he fingered a handkerchief that Lilly had given him as a piece of memorabilia.  It was lacy on the edges, with a tiny green shamrock embroidered with fancy letters underneath that spelled out Son.  He could get to feeling misty if he kept on, so he tucked it away in his pocket, waiting for his name to be called.


He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling he had in his bones or the hollowness in his stomach.  He assured himself he was being foolish, or overly cautious, that he was perfectly on the mend and ready for whatever came.  "Then why do I feel like this?"  he asked himself quietly.


It had been weeks since Pete made an appearance.  Peter hadn't been around.  No dreams, because he KNEW how to stop them.  No sign of the very real, sneering, face.  No visions of him in various poses of familiarity; hand extended with the lighter, pulling loose his belt, looking down on him  . . .


"Mr. Manning?"


He looked up.  "Yes that's me," he stood.  


"The doctor is ready for you now."


At the sound of those words, he felt woozy to the point of toppling to the side.  "Mr. Manning!  Orderly, chair!"  the nurse called out, and that was the last thing he heard until he opened his eyes later, in a hospital bed.


"Mr. Manning, are you all right?"  asked a sweetly older female voice.


"Lilly?" he said, knowing full well it could not be her.


"No, Mr. Manning.  My name is Haven."


He squinted.  "Hi, Haven.  Never heard that before."


"It's Danish.  How are you feeling?"


"Ok I guess.  What happened to me?"


"We're not entirely sure.  You stood up to greet me, and when I spoke, you fell.  You went down pretty hard."


He looked around the room.  Everything was pristine.  "I guess."


"The doctor will be in soon to see you.  Maybe he can shed more light on this."


He wasn't sure.  For his own benefit, he ran over the events in the waiting room carefully.  He'd felt uneasy.  He was remembering Peter, commenting to himself how Pete had not made a recent appearance.  He stood up, the nurse spoke, and he felt queasy, and then was here.  In this room, all white.


Wait, what was he remembering?  Peter in all different poses.  Peter with the lighter.  Peter with the belt.  Peter standing over him...


He leaned over the bed and vomited.  Not much was there, and he heaved almost nothing.  The nurse came running.  "Mr. Manning, are you all right?"


"I'm sorry, I made a mess,"  he had difficulty catching his breath.


"It's all right, tell me what you're feeling."


"I don't know, I was thinking, and I just felt so sick."


"All right.  I am going to give you something for nausea and to calm you down.  Do you realize, Mr. Manning, that you are shaking?  You've been trembling since you woke."


He looked at his hands.  She was right.


"Have you eaten?"


He nodded toward the side of the bed where he had lost his breakfast, and weakly smiled.  "Does it matter now if I did?"


She smiled.  "Well, it could.  Perhaps you got food poisoning?"


Her voice began to fade away.  She was questioning him, but he could not hear her well.  His vision seemed blurred, and he fought to keep consciousness.  "Tom!"  he said to himself, as she questioned and snapped in front of his eyes, but he could make no answer.  "Tom, are you there?"  She continued to speak, and then an alarmed look came over her face before she ran from the room to get assistance.  


"I'm here, Todd, what's wrong?"


"Tom, I'm sick, something's wrong."


"You weren't ready!  It's all my fault, Todd.  I told you to get home!"


"No Tom, it's not your fault, it's ok.  I just don't know what is wrong with me."


"I dunno.  But I'm sorry 'cause I kept on about the baby."


"Tom, don't go.  Tom?"


"Mr. Manning?  Mr. Manning?"  His eyes focused on a man in a white coat, putting a cold stethoscope on his chest.   "Mr. Manning, can you hear me?"


"Yes, I hear you."  


"Mr. Manning, can you look at me?  Can you focus your eyes on me?"


Todd couldn't answer.  As much as he wanted to, he couldn't.  His eyes continued to blur and he saw nothing in front of him but a gray haze.


"This man is suffering from acute exhaustion."  The doctor stopped and looked to the nurse.  In a loud voice, he firmly spoke, "Mr. Manning, when was the last time you slept?" 


Todd slightly stirred when he felt a needle in his arm.  "No, no drugs."


"This will help you sleep, which is what you need."


"No."  His voice trailed off.  When he was able, he would give that doctor a piece of his mind.  Sleep?  That was the one thing he did not want to do.


He brought himself to lucidity, and shook off the dream-thoughts.   He had to find someone to help him remember his own humanity.  He headed to his sister's house and longed for her lectures and kindness.