Failings of the Fathers: 44

After a few minutes sitting in silence with Todd, Malcolm said, "I'm going to go and try this.  I'm not saying I'd accept your offer, but perhaps it's time I try.  Been thinking about it for a while now, and mentioned it just today, as a matter of fact.  Calvin, one of the patients here, who was a friend of ours until recently, is also leaving soon.  It may be time to move on.  No time like the present."  Malcolm sounded as if he was trying to talk himself into it. 

Todd looked at the man, and realized he was not much older than Todd was.  He said, "Sure.  That sounds great.  And, if you want the job, then, you get the job."

"Will you come with me?  Out there?"  Todd could tell the man felt awkward asking.

Todd was somehow expecting the request.  There was some kind of camaraderie, he'd felt it with Aiden, and even with Zeus and Thornhart, after being tormented by The Men of 21.  He had expected that Malcolm would ask him, a virtual stranger, to be the one to be with him outside for the first time in years, if it could not be Aiden, which, at this time, it could not.  He said, "Yep," and stood up.

The two of them walked to the elevator, and then straight through the lobby, Malcolm in the lead.  When they got to the door, Malcolm said, "This is hard."  He looked to Todd.  "Maybe not as hard as being electrocuted?"

"Maybe."  Todd said, absently pulling the sleeve cuffs over his wrists.  The man looked at him, searchingly.  

"Why does what you've been through and just told me suddenly make my fears seem so much less?"

"They don't.  They just make you realize you're not alone.  I'm not going to do anything here, you have to take the lead.  I'll follow, for support, whatever, but I'm not going to make you do it."

Malcolm abruptly turned and went back to a bench in the lobby and sat.  "I'm a coward."

"Nope.  Not buying it."  Todd said.  "If you can't you can't.  But you're not a coward."

"You're stronger.  I can tell."

"You don't know how wrong you are.  I couldn't even face the truth, about my own life, for like forty years.  I was abused as a kid, too, my whole life, every which way you can think of someone being abused.  This didn't start with The Men of 21.  It's a lot bigger of a story.  I couldn't face what my pervert of a father did to me, until just this past year.  Does that make me a coward?"

Malcolm physically shuddered, and Todd saw it.  The man said, "No.  I'd say it makes you brave, to go on living.  Try and have a life."

"Right.  Like you.  You went on living, even though she didn't.  What would she think if she saw you pent up in here?"

The man considered Todd's words.  Then, Malcolm got up and headed back to the door.  He put his hand on the knob, and stood, almost frozen.

Then he said, "Todd, what happened when you faced it?  The first time you did?"

"I puked.  I cried.  I almost blacked out.  I sat in a shower, on the floor, in a hotel, until the water ran cold, and my wife had to help me out of it.  I worked on it, for a long while, with my therapist.  Then, I moved on."

"Just like that?"

"No, I won't say 'just like that,' but pretty close.  It's been easier since I faced it and dealt with it all.  Just the facts."

Malcolm's hand was still on the knob.  He turned it, and the door opened.  The sun was still there, in the sky, just touching the edges of the world.  He took a large, audible breath. 

Todd waited.

As the man walked out into the fading sun, Todd kept his distance, but followed.  He was two paces behind Malcolm when the ex-gardener went down.

***

"Mom, can I talk to you?"  Jack asked, standing at the door of the master bedroom.

"How did you get home?"

"I got sent here.  Bomb threat."

"Oh, wow.  Did you call Perzno?"

"Yeah.  Figured it would be hard for you, with Jewel."

"You figured right."

"God, I love her, Mom.  She's so awesome."  He was mesmerized by her little face and hands.

"I know.  Jack, why didn't you tell me about your brother's nightmares?"

"He made me promise, I thought I could handle him, plus, same thing, Jewel."

"You should have."

"I guess, yeah.  I'm sorry.  Mom, I wanted to ask something."

"Sure, go ahead."

"Did all those things in Grandma Bitsy's drawings happen?"

She put Jewel in her basket.  "No, Jack, obviously not the ones about you kids, or me.  But the others, yes, they're real."

He gulped.  "Dad's life freaking sucked."

"It did, yeah, until he had us."

"There's one where she kills Peter."

"Yes, there's one where she kills Peter."

"Is that why she can't talk, Mom?  Because of all that?"

"No.  She was beaten and left for dead by him.  They believe the talking thing is brain damage."

"I'm not a doctor, but I don't believe it."

Blair was puzzled.  "Why not?"

"I just don't.  I think she can't talk because she's all screwed up.  I think he scared her silent."

"I . . . don't know what to say to that, Jack Manning."

"Why can't it be true?"

"I think the doctors would know."

"Grandma Addy was sick a long time, and the doctors were wrong about that.  I just . . . think so, that's all."

He turned to leave and she said, "Jack.  Take care of your brother, like you have been.  But please, tell me in the future if he needs us."

"I will, Mom.  Sorry."

He went to his room, and she heard the music go on, and the door close.  She settled back for a short nap, but somehow couldn't fall asleep.  Her mind was on Bitsy.

***

It was nearing lunch hour, and Ray Martino was in his office, panning through Bea's file.  Hers was a larger folder than the others, because of the drawings and notes.  He went through all of them, stopping to review a few of the written items, until he came to her most recent drawings.  They were the ones that Todd had brought with him when they brought his mother in this last time, catatonic.

He looked at each one in succession, studying them carefully.  A small, frightened boy, being held off the floor by his neck, while a menacing figure held a bat in one taut hand.    A boy, older than the last, crying in a dark room with a single lightbulb.  Bea, killing Peter.  Peter, attacking Blair.

What am I missing in this?  Can she be right?  Todd came to see me . . .

He opened his drawer and pulled out Todd's file.  Searching through it, he found record of Todd's visit to him, in which he said that he remembered being burned with a lighter by Peter in Switzerland.  Both had pawned it off as confused memories.  What if Bea were right, and Peter had been alive, all this time?  The implications were impossible.  But, he questioned himself, for the better part of an hour.  

Can you be sure, Martino, that the guy's NOT living??

He cleared his throat, and searched through Todd's file again.  The photo of Peter Manning was staring up at him.  How could a well-dressed, seemingly acute businessman and clean cut guy have done these things?  And if he had, which Ray knew he did, could he have done more, like fake his death?

You are listening to Sister Rebecca Katherine a little too much.  This is not logical, Martino.  Not logical, and not human behavior.  This is human fantasy.  Bea Manning is delusional.  She's depressed, suicidal and brain damaged.

But the nun?  

And what about the burn.  The scar, it was there.

He picked up the phone to call Todd.


***

Todd caught Malcolm before he hit the ground, and the man was clutching at his chest.  Todd said, "Breathe in, deep," and then ordered him, "now."

The man tried.  After a few gasps, he was able to get his breathing under control.  He said, "I'm trying."

"I know you are.  Just keep breathing.  Breathe in deep, until your chest loosens.  It feels like someone's stepping on it, right?"

"Yes," the man said, still regulating his breathing slowly, but holding his chest with his hand, finger-splayed.

"Go ahead and keep doing that."  Todd just then wondered what had made him agree to do what he was doing, but something told him to keep on.

"I . . . am."

"Good.  I mean, we're getting to know each other the fast way, here.  Usually, I wait until at least a nice dinner before this."

Malcolm's stress broke, and he laughed, lightly.  Then he was finally able to stand up, on his own, without leaning on Todd.  He was still pressing his hand to his chest, and his skin was pale.  Todd said, "Now, what are you going to do?"

"Go back," he said, as he began trembling.

"You sure?"

There was silence.  Then he said, "No."

"I'll wait.  I have time.  Lots of it."

"Aiden told me . . . about what you did for him.  Bringing him . . . to see his childhood home. . .helping him . . . to face his demons."  The man struggled for breath between words.

"Yeah, I guess.  So, what are you going to do?"

"Walk over there."

"Okay."

He took a few steps, and then froze.  "It was sunny, it was beautiful.  She was beautiful.  She was . . . in the doorway, beautiful."  He took three more small steps, and Todd followed, keeping a short distance behind.  Malcolm said, "She . . . smiled, and I looked up from the soil, and smiled.  And . . . and . . ."

Todd moved closer, instinctively.  Malcolm became very quiet.

Up in the cafeteria, Miguel looked out the window, and then stood up, excitedly, telling Tina, "My God, Malcolm's outside!  With that guy, your brother!"

All of them stood and went to the window.  Timothy softly said, "Todd, what have ya gone and done now?"

"No, no, this is good.  This is . . . good.  He's an agoraphobic.  Chronic and severe.  Since his wife.  This is good."  Miguel repeated.

The three of them watched as Malcolm, walking very slowly, stopping every few steps, neared the park bench that faced a small garden area.  

Todd found himself nervous with concern.  What if I did the wrong thing, agreeing to this, and the guy has a heart attack and croaks?

Malcolm said, "We looked at each other and smiled, and her smile was the most beautiful one I'd ever seen her make.  I wanted to keep that in my head for the rest of my life.  I painted it into my heart over and over.  And then . . ."

"Then?"

"I heard noises.  They sounded like hollow pops, almost like firecrackers or exploding balloons."  He had taken a few more steps toward the bench.  

Todd was right behind him, close enough to reach out and touch his shoulder.  He said, "I know those sounds.  I was shot, three different times.  Once, I was shot five times in the back.  By the same guys you're talking about.  I know.  Believe me, I do."

"I looked around," he said, and his breathing was escalating.  "I looked all around me, to the street, to the roof, to the house, to the neighbor's houses.  I looked everywhere, and couldn't see where the sound was coming from."

Malcolm was no more than two steps from the bench.  Todd hadn't realized it, but tears were streaming down the man's face, and his nose was running onto his clothing.  Finally, Malcolm pushed himself, and landed, with a thud, on the bench, sitting.  He glanced into the garden, and said, "I looked back," he broke down, "and the flowers were spotted with blood.  It was thick and sticky.  She was on the ground,"  His face twisted with grief, "my Genevieve, and her face . . . was gone."

Todd felt immediately cold through to his bones, as the man cried into his hands.  Unsure of what to do, he slowly and gently put a hand on the man's shoulder.  After a few minutes, Malcolm sat abruptly back, as if exhausted and had completed a monumental achievement.  

And he had.  

Todd looked at the guy, his face completely flushed now, and wet with tears, his nose dripping onto his shirt, and pure exhaustion written into his face.  Todd simply said, "So.   Nice garden, huh?"

At first, Malcolm side-eyed Todd, and then he smiled.  "Yes, nice garden.  Or, what do you Americans say, 'awesome?'"

"Eh, sometimes we say that,"  Todd said.  "Other times we say, 'great job, you finally did it.'"

Malcolm looked around him.  "I did do it.  I did."  He looked to the sky.  "It feels good out here.  For the moment."

"For the moment.  And that's about all there is.  One step at a time, right?"

"Right.  What was your garden, Todd?"

"My father's house.  The basement.  A secret room."

Malcolm seemed disgusted again.  "I'm sorry for all that happened to you.  I'm glad that you came through it, and that this day came."

"I'm sorry for all that happened to you, too.  You're going to come through it, like I did.  I don't waste my time for nothing when I could be eating."

The two sat in silence for a while, with Timothy, Tina and Miguel watching from above.

From another window, a way down the hospital front, another man was watching, lighting a cigar and taking a puff.

***

"Blair, it's Ray Martino."

"Hello, Ray, how are you?  Your namesake has just finished wiping chocolate ice cream on my refrigerator and finger painting in it."

"I'm fine, thanks, and that sounds like him."

"Yep.  He's experimenting in the fine arts.  What can I do for you?  I plan to see Bea, very soon."

"That would be great, I am sure she would like that."

"Any change?"

"Slight.  Seems she made a trip to Sister's room and left a drawing and a note."

"Really?  What was that about?"

Ray thought better of telling her that it was a threat to her children.  Instead, he said, "Oh, Blair, excuse me, I called to speak to Todd, and I'm short on time, if that's okay?"

"Sure, but he's not here."

"He's not."

"No.  He's in Switzerland.  His brother, Aiden, may be dying, I'm afraid.  He had a brain hemorrhage."

"That's very sad news."

"You can call his cell phone, he's usually expecting calls from us."

"Thanks, I will.  And Blair, send me a picture of that little doll soon."

"I will.  Take care, Ray."

He hung up, and thought about it.  Not wanting to disturb Todd when his brother was so ill stopped him from dialing.  

"Come on, Martino, Dr. Martino, Todd will laugh you off the planet if you tell him you're calling because of an impressionable elderly nun and his delusional mother."

He pushed his chair back and went to lunch.

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