The Way Back: Chapter 2

"Manning, I never expected to see you back here." It was Bo. Perfect. Just the person he never wanted to run into at this point. The gloating would be more than he could take.


"Why Bo, you know you just love adding me to the quota list for monthly arrests. I sell a mean policeman's ball ticket, too."


Bo squinted his eyes, hands on hips, and stared into Todd's face. "Whoever did this work was a genius. You almost have me fooled."


"And who was this 'genius' that put a scar onto his or her handiwork? Now, what sense would that make?"


"Make you look more like the man you are posing as, I guess. What do you think, McBain?" Bo turned toward the taller, dark man, who was standing watching from behind Todd.


"Bo, you got me on this one." He looked away, clearly trying to show his disinterest in the chiding.

"Lieutenant, in my office." Bo said, looking once more at Todd's face. He shook his head. "Jameson, watch our friend Mr. Manning or whoever he is. Make certain he's around. His face brightens up the place." The two men entered Bo's office and the door closed.


Todd found he had no interest in listening in on them; much of what they said did not matter to him anymore. He knew who he was. And more importantly, Blair knew him. He went over things again; her expressions, her asking him where he'd been, her hand brushing his scar when he kissed her and her kissing him passionately back. Most importantly, he recalled her silence. This was a woman who was emotionally shocked, but also in love. "Things haven't changed much, Mrs. Manning," he said aloud. He closed his eyes and brought his cuffed hands to his face. The lower part of both palms smelled like her, probably from when he held her face in his hands, and he breathed in deeply. It didn't make sense that her scent and her perfume was the same after all these years, but why else did he recognize it? He took it in and felt himself flush. He wanted her back so much. It was almost incomprehensible.


He closed his eyes and played the scene over and over, each time slowing the action when his lips met hers. Her hair still felt the way he remembered it; her eyes still searched his the same way; her mouth still accepted him as it always did. And he loved her.


The door to Bo's office opened loudly, interrupting. "Hi, John, Bo. Do I get a break here, or what? Or do you show me to your finest accommodations?"


McBain stepped forward. Bo watched, from behind, hands on hips again. "You have to spend the night here, at least. You've got a laundry list of charges."


Todd's face was tell-tale. He kept his eyes focused on John, feigning acceptance, but McBain could see his hands begin to shake.


"I'm not sure what will happen next, but we're going to look into everything you've accused Manning of."


"I'm not accusing myself of anything, John." His voice caught momentarily. His facade was slipping.


John caught it, having spent some time alone with the guy, he felt for him. He stepped closer. "If I could do this differently . . ."


"Nope, why would the LPD do anything differently where I'm concerned. It's always been my favorite place," he spoke louder next intentionally, "and I'm Bo's favorite tenant, right Bozo?"


Bo, who had gone back to his paperwork, snapped his head up at the sound. "What did you call me?"


John turned to Bo, and back to Todd, who said, "Just lock me up, Commissioner. Routine." He put his head back and closed his eyes again. He clasped his hands together to mask the tremors.


"Manning, come with me," McBain lead the way. Todd got up and followed, head lowered. Bo stared after him, and made eye contact with McBain as they walked off.

In the basement of the police station, John opened the barred door to the holding cell area, and opened a cell. He slowly slid the bars to the side. Todd, losing his bravado by the moment, put his hands up to John so that the cuffs could be removed. Again, John noticed the shaking of his hands as he offered them. He rubbed his wrists absently and turned to the cell opening, head held high. John watched, as he put his hands on either side of the "door" and paused, lowering his head. He shook, and this time it could not be hidden. He looked up to his keeper. John was overtaken by the expression on Todd's face, and within moments, the lieutenant was certain of two things: this was Todd Manning, and jailing him was very wrong and impossibly cruel.


"Look, I, uh . . ."


"I'm going, officer." He stepped inside. "Long time no see." His voice cracked. Then, "I'll be ok." Almost questioning.


"Is there someone I can call for you? You refused your one phone call."


Todd looked up at him, making eye contact and studying him for a minute. "No. No one. Hey, don't worry, just doing your job."


"Yeah." He paused. "My job. I'll check in with you later on."


Todd's eyes found the floor. "Sure, yeah. Ok."

McBain found it difficult to walk away, but knew he had to. He wondered what must be going through the man's mind, being back in a cell after eight years of captivity. His stomach rocked with nausea as he heard the bars to the area clang shut.


Bo was waiting in his office, as if expecting McBain to return. John slammed into the room, closing the door behind him. "What are we doing here, Bo? Manning or not, the guy has been tortured for 8 years and held in a cell. 8 years of his life. I mean, what are we doing?"


"He committed crimes, lieutenant. Crimes. Remember? The reason we're here and getting that old paycheck."


"What's your take on this, Bo?"


Bo ran his finger along his desk's edge. "He's Manning. Or he's crazy. Or he's both."


"I can take him into custody in my apartment. He can stay with me until he gets a lawyer or we figure out this mess. I mean, what if Manning is really an impostor and this guy is for real?"


"I don't know, John, what do you want me to say? You know I can't let you take him out of here. What happens when you have to work? Who watches him then? We'd have a media frenzy on our hands if that happened. A former rapist, a kidnapper, and an all-around good guy."


"Yes sir." John did this when making it known he was subjugating to Bo's authority. He left the room in a whirl of black blazer and let the door bang on his way out.


Bo called after him. "Lieutenant? Calling it a night?"


"You could say that."


Todd had given up pacing and was lying on the bunk, eyes fixated on the ceiling. He'd gotten through the first few minutes after the shaking stopped by repeating his family list aloud. It was something he had learned to do to distract from his pain throughout his time away. He'd recite all of his family's names, their relationship to him, and in some cases, even things about them. He'd gone through everyone from Blair and Starr to Tea and Jack when the panic finally subsided enough for him to try and meditate, another thing he had used as a way not to completely succumb to eternal mental blackness. The meditation, though, had come from Sam. Sam who was the only father he'd consider calling one; Sam the hippie with the tireless love and peace ideas; Sam who died. Todd's mind rested on Sam for a while, and he pictured him, silver-haired and rather bossy, taking him in his arms and telling him he loved him. The closest thing to a real friend he had, aside from Blair, and possibly Tea, was Sam Rappaport.


The clang of bars rang out and echoed in the empty holding area. He ignored it, used to the sounds of coming and going in jail. After all, he had spent a great deal of time incarcerated, one way or another. It wasn't until a voice spoke that Todd swung his legs over his bunk, looking toward the door. "Hey, 5 card stud or go fish?" McBain said, unlocking Todd's cell.


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