Diamond in the Rough: Chapter 44

Jack, getting a ride from Williams, knocked on Jenna's door.  She looked up, and her eyes met his as a smile spread across her face.  "Jack.  Were you buried in snow?"

"Just about.  My little brother and I made a fort.  He was so into it."

"Come in.  That kid's stuff.  It's so much fun for bigger kids.  Wish I were there to do that."

"Next time I'll invite you over, if your sister will let you come."

"I think she will, now.  She trusts you."

"That's good.  Right?"

"Right."

"And thanks for that drawing, the one you brought me when I was in the hospital.  My parents love it."

"I am glad."
"I wanted to tell you that my father is trying to find your mother.  I know he went to the police station about it.  He's trying to piece clues together, I guess.  So, don't give up hope."

"I'd love her back, especially by Christmas.  But I know it's a dream."

"If we can't dream, what can we do?"

***

"Are ya very busy, Lad?"


"No, not at all, come on in."  Todd held the door open for Timothy, who had snow covering his shoes and the bottoms of his pants.  "Don't you have boots, Old Man?"


"No, I never invested in them.  I don't like the feeling of being cooped up inside me shoes."


Todd smiled, "Well then, come on in and get warm.  There's a fire in the family room, I'll get you some coffee."


Timothy sat in the easy chair beside the fireplace, and warmed his hands by the fire.  Todd returned with coffee for both of them.  Putting Timothy's down on the coffee table, he said, "To what do we owe this visit?"


"I wanted to ask your help, with something about Creena."


"What's wrong?"


"She called me very upset this morning, with the weight of the world on her.  She would not tell me what was going on, but she was beside herself with crying.  She could barely speak.  I have a feeling that this has to do with the woman in the park."


"Wow, that sounds bad.  So, what can I do?"


"Would ya go with me this afternoon to St. Anne's to talk with her?  I was thinking that you might be able to help her calm down.  And with your investigative experience, possibly you could lend a hand with whatever case it is that is troubling her."


"Sure, Blair can come, too, they bonded a lot while I was missing in Ireland.  The second time, of course."


"Certainly, Bridgette would be more than welcome.  I am sure Creena will not mind."


"I'll talk to her.  It's Saturday, Shaun is around and Jack can watch the kids, as long as Shaun is here."


"Fine, that would be perfect."  He drank some coffee.  He marveled at how Todd remembered how he took his.  He said, "You've been hanging around home a lot these last few weeks, is everything all right?"


Todd sipped his coffee.  "It's great.  Better than I can remember it, all things considered.  It's just that . . ."


"I'm an open door, Son,"  Timothy said.


"Thanks.  We've been, well, we've had our share of differences lately."


"It doesn't show.  You look as in love as ever."


"Oh, we're always in love.  Always have been.  Just having this . . . difference of opinion."


"What about?"


"Mitch Laurence."


"Who is he?"


"He's this guy, the one who had me buried alive, nine years ago.  He raped my sister, Viki, tried to attack my nieces, both of them.  Ran a religious cult, was a brainwasher, kidnapped Blair.  I can go on."


"I sense something bigger . . . why don't you tell me, Lad."


"I told John McBain that Dorian reminded me of his alias, Michael Lazarus.  I want to have John check into it, about Jenna's mom and the Statesville thing.  Of course, Blair knows I want to kill him.  And I do.  I want to squeeze the life out of him.  She doesn't want me involved.  She tried to get me to agree to let it go.  I agreed, then I disagreed, then I agreed again."


"Where did you leave off?"


"Agree."


"Hmf, Son, I can only say one thing, and it won't be long."


"All right."


"Revenge destroyed my life.  I lost everything, including myself.  I lost my law practice, my family, I almost lost Creena.  She was the last good thing that did not dissolve.  I lost my home, my friends.  I lost my health and almost lost my sanity.  You know the rest."


"Me, well, I'm not counting on the sanity much."


"That's not the point, my Lad.  Look at what you have, and what's at stake."


"Everything.  I know.  But I can't stop thinking what it would be like to see him die.  See him hurt, like he hurt everyone."  


"I don't think it's healthy, Boy.  And I think you should let it go, just as Bridgette does.  Where is this Mitch?"


"In Statesville Prison.  For kidnapping and attempted rape of my niece Jessica."  


"I'm sorry.  But even more, he's already lost his freedom, and will be suffering for years in captivity.  You don't need to do this.  You can support the police and try and add to his charges.  I can file an injunction, a lawsuit, whatever ya need."


"I've thought of all that.  But the idea of squeezing the life out of him appeals to me more."


"And why do you suppose that is?"


Todd stopped.  He didn't know how to answer.  He said, "I never really thought about that."


"Then do."


He became silent.  "I don't know, I . . . guess I'm angry, for what he did to her.  Have this hate, this thing inside me.  I want to make him pay for every tear she's shed and every thing he's done."


"I understand.  But why does the idea of killing him, using violence against him, appeal more than him just spending the rest of his life in prison?"


Todd stared at Timothy blankly.  "Tell me, Old Man," he said, softly.


"Because it's how you were raised.  You were taught to hurt because you were hurt.  You were raised on violence and saw it, every day of your life.  That doesn't go away easily.  Unless you push it away."


He looked at his hands, clenched and unclenched them.  The room was silent, neither he nor Timothy moved or spoke.  The chains.  Hanging overhead . . .hatchmarks . . . 

After a while, he looked back up.  "Let's say for the moment, I stick with 'agree' and think more about that?"


"Yes, my boy," he said, and continued to drink his coffee.


***

Sister Rebecca Katherine made her way into the solarium, and found Bea, who was drawing near the window.  When Bea saw her, her face lit up and she held up the drawing she was working on.  It was of St. Anne's, in the snow.  The nun walked to her and said, "Bea, that is wonderful!"


She smiled.


The nun sat with her.  The other patients were busy at a bingo match, and they had the solarium to themselves.  Sister Rebecca Katherine said, "Bea, I know you said you have trouble with names.  Do you know your whole name?"


She took the pad and wrote, simply, B.


Sister Rebecca laughed quietly at herself, for assuming her name was Bea, as in Beatrice.  She said, "What of the rest of your name, Dear?"


She shook her head "no."


The nun said, "I have to ask you a few things, Dear.  I hope that you will be able to answer them without becoming too upset."


She nodded, still drawing.  She had torn a page out for writing and set it to the side.  The landscape she was working on was taking shape exquisitely, and Sister Rebecca Katherine noticed that in the midst of all of the white snow, was a small figure in a red hat and red gloves, sitting in the garden.


"This drawing is going to be lovely.  I so enjoy looking at your artwork."  She thumbed through the sketch pad, stopping at the picture of the child at the lake.  She said, "Bea, is this your Angel?"


Bea nodded.  Sister Rebecca Katherine took this as an opening for her next question.  "Do ya know how old your son was when you were sent away to The Evil One?"


Bea wrote, I don't know, but I think he was nine or ten.  I sometimes hear sparrows when I see him coming to me.  Is he dead, Sister?


"I don't know, Dear."  She choked back tears, and continued, "Can you draw him, from memory?"


Bea scribbled quickly,  Sometimes.  Not all the way.  I still get confused.  I wonder about The Magic of The Evil One and if a spirit entered me and blocked my mind, stopped my talking and made me forget My Angel.  But, I can draw his eyes.  Like this. 


She took out the sketch pad, and turned it to the drawing of Jack.  The nun focused on the eyes, and then looked at Bea again.


She said, "This is not your son, Bea."


The woman looked at her, quizzically.  The nun said, "I know, I'm sorry.  But I believe that.  Your son would be, if he were alive, in his early forties, Dear."


Bea looked confused.  She wrote, That can't be.  He was just a baby.  He was just a boy.  It was not long ago.  I don't think it was long ago.  I am not sure, but Sister, I get so confused.


"I want to help you.  I'd like to tell Dr. Levin.  I wanted to ask you, Dear, if I may show him your letters?  I believe he could help ya."


Bea tilted her head.  Would he hurt me?  I am afraid.  Would he hurt me with his hands, or his body?


Sister Rebecca Katherine said, "No, Dear, never.  I would be sitting right there with the both of ya, I would be by your side, and he's a very nice and trustworthy man."


Bea wrote on the pad.  I will listen to you, Sister.  You may tell him, or show him my letters if you think it is right.  


Sister Rebecca Katherine hugged Bea, and then Bea smiled at her.  The nun said, "One more thing.  Can you draw a picture of your Angel, on the day you left him?  I know it is hard, but can ya try?"


She nodded.  Taking out her colored pencils and opening to a fresh page, Bea began to draw, lines flowing magically from her fingers, and as Sister Rebecca Katherine watched, snow began to softly fall outside the windows of St. Anne's.


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