The Fourth Life: Chapter 61

Timothy had his two leather suitcases on his bed.  Both had seen better days; one had large areas where the leather was rubbing through and worn, the other had a plethora of stickers on it from the various journeys it had taken.  He said aloud, "Both of ya are my loyal comrades.  It's been quite a life."


He was tossing clothing, books and other things into them at a quick pace.  He had also already packed two large boxes full of books, that he was having mailed overseas.  That was all he needed; his books, his clothes, and a few good bottles of bourbon or scotch.  


Of course, he would take the box.  The box had his little boys first lost teeth, a lock of his hair, his wife's ring, and the same photo that Todd had discovered on the net, only it was the sharper original, not a copy, and had some color, though it was faded.   He traced a finger along her hair, and said, "You go with me, everywhere."  He placed the box into his suitcase, first binding it closed with a long elastic band.  It was then that he heard the door.


He opened it, and Todd was standing there, hands in his front pants pocket.  "Timothy.  May I come in?"


Timothy walked away from the door, leaving it open, and Todd followed.  "I don't have much time, Todd.  You and I both know why you're here."


"Do we?" Todd said, and his ire was evident in his working jaw.


"We do."  He closed the top of the suitcase, and turned.  "Do you want to kill me?  Because if you do, Lad, just do it now and let's not waste more time."


Todd's anger was festering in the form of tears that burned both eyes.  He blinked them back, and said, "Yeah, I want to kill you, and you're lucky I won't."


"Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  Either way, what's done is done."


Todd suddenly grabbed the older man by the shirt, and said, "That's not enough, Broderick.  You were going to let Blair burn for your sins."


"Why, is she?  Has she been arrested?"


He let go of him, and pushed him a bit, and the older man fell back a few steps.  "No.  You know she hasn't.  You know Finn has taken the blame.  But I started thinking, when this all came to a head, that if you saw Blair there, at Hesser's bedside the day he was killed, why you didn't tell me about her breakdown and the scene she caused?  And I could only think of one thing."


"And if she were arrested, I'd have come forward.  That was always my in plan, boy."


"And say what?  What would you have said, Timothy?  Would you have said that she was innocent?  How long before you saved her?  How many nights was she going to be tormented with fear, and memories, and aching to know the truth?"


"I'd have told the truth," he said, putting both suitcases by the door.  "I'd have told the truth, if Blair was in peril.  I'd never have let her go to jail for this."


"What's the truth, eh, old man?"


Timothy's eyes grazed over Todd's irate expression, and turned away from the fire in his eyes for a moment.  Then he said, "Your wife was standing by Hesser's bed.  Her hands were balled into fists.  She had a blood stain, on her nightgown, I believe she had opened her stitches.  She stood by him, and they exchanged words.  I could not hear what was being said, as I was hiding my presence.  I saw her get up onto the bed, and put her knees onto his chest and begin to push a pillow down onto his face.  His good hand swung toward her head.  He hit her, at least two times on the side of the head, and she didn't react.  It was as if something had taken her over."


"Then what.  Don't stop now, Broderick."


"Then, the nurse noticed, called the orderlies.  The guard, who was off doing whatever he was doing ran back, and all of them tried to restrain her.  She'd thrashed and fought them, with the strength of a man.  The poor thing, she was in such pain."


"Don't.  Don't pretend that you care about what happens to her.  You didn't even tell me what she went through, or that she wasn't guilty.  You let me believe she'd done it.  If I knew, I could have protected her, freed her from that guilt."


"I had to.  Couldn't take the chance.  Self-preservation.  If it had come to it, I'd have stood up for her.  But that doesn't matter much now, does it, Lad?"


"No.  It doesn't."


Timothy walked to his chair and sat, pouring more scotch.  "She was taken away, by the staff and the guard.  Carlo was recovering from what she had done, which had tired him, since he was so badly injured by your beating.  He was alone, and so was I.  No one was around, I looked, and it seemed the area was a wasteland.  It was late in the evening, and particularly quiet.  I saw my chance.  To finally see him get what he deserved."


Todd watched the man's expressions as he related the story.  "I went into his room, quickly, without being seen.  He said, 'you?' and I just nodded.  I put a needle into his IV, and injected him with a drug used in surgery, to arrest all muscles.  He suffocated while lying perfectly still.  He was dead before they returned.  And I am not afraid to tell you that he died the most torturous death in those few minutes of silent stillness.  Just what he deserved."  He downed the scotch.  "This is what you'll be, Lad, if ya don't move on.  If you let your rage consume ya, if ya allow it to take over your life, and your senses, this is who ya will become.  A bitter, lonely old man, and a ruthless killer."


Todd, overcome with sadness for the man who he had come to see as a father figure, relaxed his posture, and let a tear spill over to his cheek.  "Timothy Broderick, I never want to see you near my family again."  Todd brushed the tear off his own cheek.  "I can't forgive you for lying to me about this.  You don't know what it has done to Blair."


"I know this, Lad.  Why do ya think I'm packing?  I'm going back home, to Ireland.  This world's not long for me, ay?  I've seen my day.  My drinking's taken the life from me, and my lust for revenge has left me an empty hull.  My liver is not doing well, and I am pretty certain I'll be long gone soon.  I only ask ya one thing, my boy."


"You don't have a right to ask me anything."


"I know, but I'm asking.  Please, don't tell my sister what I've done."


Todd squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of the sweet, holy, little woman.  "I never planned on that.  I'd never hurt her this way, even though you didn't seem to care she'd be hurt when you did it."


"And please, don't let that little boy of yours think ill of me.  He would be hurt by it, Lad, he called me grandpa the other day."  The older man's voice caught.  "I'm asking ya to consider his feelings.  Don't break his dreams."


Todd's heart broke imagining Sam dealing with the knowledge of the truth about Timothy, and he said, "I'd never hurt my boy.  You don't have to tell me that."


"This I know, Todd.  You're a good father.  I'll never know what kind of father I would have been.  That was taken from me.  You were the closest I got to that."


Todd, feeling a twinge of pity for the man, pushed it away, and stepped backward, toward the door.  "What are you telling your sister?"


"Leave that to me, Laddy, I'll do what needs to be done.  I'm leaving tonight, ya won't have to see me anymore.  I've left all of the work I owed to ya on your desk at The Sun.  I won't be a bother to ya ever again, eh?"  And then, he stepped toward Todd, and put his arms around him, patting the younger man's back. 


Todd, overcome, said, "You're lucky, old man," and his voice cracked.  


He gave in to the embrace for a brief moment, as he heard Timothy say, "I know my boy, I was lucky, but t'was to have known the likes of you."


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