Diamond in the Rough: Chapter 35

Later that day, Todd walked into John's office.  "McBain, got a minute."

"What is it with Mannings and knocking?"

"Have to tell you about something."

"First, you really would get further with me if you exhibited any manners.  And second, how's your son?"

"He's going to be all right.  With some help."

"Things have been rough, since you've been back.  For all of you."

"I suppose, yeah, but he's a real sensitive kid.  He takes it all to heart."

"Like Blair?"

"Actually, like me.  I was the same way.  When I was . . . before Peter got his hands on me."

John swallowed, and sat back in his chair.  "What's up?"

"There's a girl, a friend of Jack's.  She's the one the art show opening was for."

"Jenna, I think her name is, right?"

"Yeah.  Her mother is missing, and has been for over a year.  I was hoping you could help me out."

He leaned forward.  "I'm listening."

"She ran off with a guy.  I just found out in the letters she wrote her kids that the guy was at Statesville.  She may have met him through an outreach program.  His name was Michael."

"A common name.  I'll do the best I can.  Start with inmates released recently.  That would make the most sense."

"Seems it.  I appreciate it."

"Anything else you can give me?"

"Not really.  Here's a photo of the mother," he handed John a snapshot.  John glanced at it.

"Okay, thanks.  Call me if you find out anything?"

"Sure."  John said, and Todd walked to the door.  "And, Manning?"

"Yeah?"

"Hug those kids for me.  I . . . got to care a lot about them, you know, over that time with Blair."

"Okay," he said, walking out of John's office.

***

"Dorie, are ya comfortable?"  Timothy asked, as Dorian settled back in against the sofa in the living room of the penthouse.  She was a bit disheveled, and fixed her hair.

"It's still the penthouse to me, I can't ever quite shake the feeling of Todd Manning when I am in here."

"Now, Dorie, ya made such good progress with the way ya handled yourself when Jack was sick.  Downright kind."

"I don't have to be, he doesn't really deserve it, based on the past.  But lately, he's been, well, wonderful with Blair."

"Yes.  The love he has for her shows."

"I suppose.  Glad the trip this morning worked."

"Yes, as I told ya, it was a success.  Can I get ya something?"

"I'd like some water, maybe, and your continued company."

He left the room, and Dorian got a recognizable look on her face.  "This place," she said, disgustedly, "He'd better not do anything to endanger my family any longer."

***

Todd sat back in the rear of the limo.  It was faily early in the day to be drinking, so he took bottled water instead, and drank it, soaking in the sun on the chilly, clear day through the window in the ceiling. He'd instructed Williams to drive around, because somehow, he was feeling out of sorts.  Dark paneling . . . an animal in the corner . . . Sloughing off the images, he examined the tenseness in his shoulders, and the nagging feeling of anger, and realized where it was coming from.  

"Hug those kids for me.  I . . . got to care a lot about them, you know, over that time with Blair."

John had once been married to Blair.  He had almost forgotten it, but at times, it reared its head, like this moment, and made the backs of his eyelids feel warmer.  You don't really change, Manning, do you?  You just hide it well.  You were just in her arms, inside her.  And, here you are, pissed at John McBain for caring.  Disgusted with his jealousy, his feelings turned to guilt as the limo trekked on.  So, he touched her.  He had to have, they were married.  He touched her and he kissed her and held her.  Aloud, he said, "Cut it out.  It's in the past.  You weren't even here to compete."

So much had happened.  So many things, in a short time.  He wasn't even sure how long it had been since he had come back to his life, but however long it was, it seemed to be filled with a sublime mixture of beautiful moments and countering grief.  They'd almost lost each other; they'd lost another child.  He tipped back the bottle and drank more of the water, the feel of it cooling his throat.  He placed the cold container against his forhead, and closed his eyes.  A pull chain from a lightbulb . . . the ceiling is low . . . Someone's pulling the chain to the light . . . someone's crying . . .

He squeezed his eyes shut, and ran a hand through his hair.  Get a grip.  You don't want to know.  You don't.  

"Williams, the penthouse," he said.  He knew he needed a real father, back when the memories were actual events, and he knew he needed one right then.

Pulling up outside the penthouse, Williams parked along the curb, and Todd told him to wait.  He entered the building, but before doing so, took note of his surroundings and how familiar they were.  Behind him was the park, where he had returned to his family after the near death in Ireland, and in front of him were the doors, leading into the recognizable foyer of the penthouse building.  He boarded the elevator to the penthouse level, and leaned against the wall as it rose, floor to floor.  This elevator.  So many times.

At that moment, all he could think of was walking into the penthouse and telling all to Timothy.  He suddenly wanted to.  And as he stood there and thought, he could only imagine himself letting himself tell it, and tell it once and for all, and Timothy being there, fathering him.  Could he really need that, this much?

The doors opened, and he stepped out, and going to P2, he knocked on the door.  Timothy answered, and Todd immediately said, "Old man, I've got something in here, something I have to get rid of . . ." before noticing that Dorian was sitting in his living room.

Hearing his words, she folded her arms, and gave an awkward smile.  "Why, Todd, nice to see you again," she said in her sing-song, patronizing voice.  Somehow, he remembered her in the same room, with Starr in the playpen, trying to take her from him.  "Auntie Dorian," he said, and his heart sunk with the realization that he wouldn't be cleansing his soul just yet.

"What were you going on about when you walked in?"  She inquired.

Todd looked to Timothy, "Lad, is there something I can do?"

He thought quickly.  "No, I just . . . meant I had a story idea that I had to get off my chest, you know, get it out."

"Ah, that.  Well, fine.  I am sure Dorie won't mind if we talk about it."

Todd felt his ire rising, and pushed it away.  "No, don't mind."

He began to relate the story of Jenna's family, not knowing what else to pull out as a story.  No story was on his mind except the one that he was seeing fragments of in his head.  Whatever it was, it wasn't slowing down as far as plaguing him.  Timothy interrupted his thoughts, "Ya stopped talking, Lad.  Mid sentence."

"Oh, did I?  I'm sorry about that, I got distracted.  I guess talking about her made me think of Jack the other night."

Dorian crossed one leg over the other, "Yes, such a tragedy.  Good thing he came out of it.  I don't think Blair could have handled another loss.  Or you, Todd."

"No, we couldn't.  Anyway," he continued, now sitting in the side chair, with his elbows on his knees, "The woman has been missing and I've only got Statesville and Michael as clues."

"That's not a lot to go on, Son.  Ya might have to try and do some more digging."

"Why Michael and Statesville?"  Dorian asked.  She was an expert at butting in.

"Those are the only two clues.  Seems she was involved in a prison outreach, and the guy she was involved in was named Michael.  That's all we know.  For now."

"Why, that's funny," she said.  "Every time I hear Statesville, I think of the same thing.  Mitch Laurence."

Todd froze, and kept his eyes focused on the carpet.  Timothy said, "I've heard the name, I believe."

"Yes, well, he's a notorious villain around Llanview."

For a moment, he flashed on his dead father Victor, next to him in the crypt.  "Villain.  Yeah."  Todd said.

"Son, can I get ya anything.  Ya seem, worn."

"No, I'm okay.  I . . ." he stood up, wishing he had never come.  "I just think I should be going, now," he said.  

Dorian ignored Todd and said, "You know, come to think of it, Mitch did have an alias.  I am sure it has nothing to do with this story you're running, Todd."

It dawned on him.  Michael Lazarus.  Mitch Laurence was also Michael Lazarus.  He closed his mind to it, and said, "I'm pretty sure it's not related, Dorian, but thanks for the effort."  He went to the door.  Timothy followed, and when the door opened at Todd's pull, Timothy stopped it with his hand.  

He looked into the eyes of his surrogate son.  "Todd, are ya all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Old Man.  Don't worry about me."

"I might have to," he said, "you're acting a bit out of it.  Are ya sure you're all right?"

The sink . . . with the old fixtures and stains.  The animal, was it a cat?

"Yeah.  Yeah, I'm fine.  Thanks Dorian, for the suggestion.  I'll see you later," he said, directing the last comment to Timothy and walking out the door.

Timothy turned to Dorian.  "Who is this Mitch character?  I saw Todd's face, when ya mentioned him."

"I think you'll need to sit, it's a long one."

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