Failings of the Fathers: 59

It was not quite six in the evening when Calvin filled his tank with gas and readied to make the drive out of Llanview.  He looked at the baby, who was sitting in the passenger seat, belted in, and hoped no one would notice.  That was when he got a better idea.

"Boy, we're getting you a new way to travel," he said, picking the toddler up.  He contemplated the trunk, before settling on putting the toddler onto the back seat, and covering him with a blanket.  He said, "Now, be very quiet."  

Ray was somehow complying.

He completed filling the tank and paid, and got back into the driver's seat.  "You look like your father, you know that?"  he asked no one.  The little boy said nothing.  He was playing with the stuffed toy Calvin had given him to keep him quiet.  It was an airplane with a cute, happy face.  Calvin could see that under the blanket, the kid was pretending to make it fly.

He almost smiled to himself, then stopped, reminding himself why he was taking the kid in the first place.  The money, wasn't all of it.  He wanted revenge, as well, but the more he thought of it, the angrier he became, so he pushed it back into his memory for review at a later date.  Leaving Manning's eldest daughter in a heap of bruises, and letting the little mongrel witness the death of his pet was a good start.  There was definitely more to come for Todd.

***

"Hi, Sam," Blair said, entering the cubicle where he was.  His color was remarkably better.

He put his arms out to his mother, and she went to him and held him.  She rocked him gently, saying, "It's all right, My Sweet Boy."

He looked at her, with his eyes wide again, as if he were trying to convey something to her.  She said, "It's okay, I know you want to talk to me and can't.  I know."

He took her hand and squeezed it.  "I know, you told Jack things.  It's all right."

He was still crying, and wanting to speak so much, that he was practically grunting.  She said, "Do you want to tell me something?"

He squeezed her hand.  Yes.  She remembered from Jack's previous statements that he used this signal.

"Do you want Mommy to guess?"

He squeezed her hand.  "Do you want to ask me if Ray is all right?"

He squeezed her hand again.  She made a conscious decision to lie to her son.  "Yes, he's all right."

He closed his eyes, and tears sprung out of them onto his cheeks, and he fell back onto the bed, exhausted.  He soon fell into the rhythmic quiet of sleep.  She brushed his hair back from his forehead.

"You're not ready to talk to me, Little Man, but I hope you will be, soon."

She looked to the ceiling, and the to the clock.  "He'll be here, in about six hours.  Not too much longer.  I know you want your Daddy, in order to feel safe," she said, leaning in to kiss him.  "Me, too."

***

Dorian made her way into Starr's makeshift room of the emergency room.  She brushed Starr's hair back from her face, and revealed purpling bruises and cuts to her cheek bone and lip.  Biting her own lip, she said, tears brimming, "What happened to my girl?  Who did this, and why?"

Starr, of course, did not answer.  She just remained still, bandaged and battered. 

"Whoever he is, I'd better not meet him, because I'll give him what for."  Then she whispered, "and he better not have hurt you any more than what we see right now.  I swear it."  Tears spilled over the matriarch's cheeks.  "You'll say you're a Manning, but you're a Cramer, through and through.  We know what you did, that you stood up for those little boys, and probably fought back.  We know.  I can only imagine what you tried to do to save them."

She sniffed, brushed water from her cheek, and pulled a chair up.  "Everyone's here for you.  Your mother, Jack, and me.  Sam's okay, he's just a little scared.  All of us are waiting for you to come to and talk to us.  We love you, and we want you to be all right.  You have a little girl waiting on you, so wake up soon.  Come back to us."

***

Todd had been on the plane for over three hours, and was anxious about getting to Llanview.  In his frustration, he had told off the airport manager, as well as two flight attendants and a newsstand worker.  Thinking back on it, he knew he was in the wrong, but he couldn't have controlled his anger if he had tried.  His little girl, his Shorty, was hanging on for her life; his son, Sam, was traumatized (according to Jack's texts,) and his baby son, the one he held to his heart when he was going through some of the worst revelations and memories, was kidnapped.  He sighed.

In a flash, he was remembering Starr, at the penthouse, with Blair, Tea and The Coach.  His mind drifted back:

"I don't want you to go," Starr had said, wearing a pink sweater and a pink headband to hold back her golden hair.

"I don't want to go," he'd said.

"I don't like saying goodbye."

"I don't either.  Listen.  There are a lot of people in this world who don't like me, and a lot I don't like and a lot of people I don't care if I ever see again for the rest of my life."

"Not me, though," she'd said, moving her long blonde hair off her shoulder.

"No, not you.  Starr, every time I see you, I think the world's a little better.  So, what's your favorite color?"

"You know."

"No, I don't know.  Is it pink?"

"Yeah, right, because it's so pretty!"

"Right.  You like pink better than red, right?  And you like pink better than white."

"White's not really a color . . ."

"Whatever, you mix up red and white and what do you get?  Do you know?"

"No."

"That's how you get pink."

"You do?"

"Yeah, you do.  Me, I'm red.  And Blair, Blair's white.  And we got all mixed up, and what did we get?"

"You got me!"

"Yeah, we got you.  And you're better than me, and you're better than Blair.  You are, you're prettier and you're smarter than both of us put together."

"Mommy's the prettiest."

"I think you're the prettiest, Starr."

"And you're smarter than me."

"That's right, I am.  I'm going to miss you," he'd said, starting to give in to his sadness.

"I'm going to miss you, too," she'd said, hugging his neck.

"I'm going to miss you, Starr, because you're the best thing that ever happened to me.  You make me happy."

He wiped his eyes, and looked back out the rounded window.  They were above the clouds now, but it was dark, and he could barely tell where the clouds were and where the sky was.  Starr was beaten . . . he closed his eyes.  He didn't want to imagine it, and still worse, he didn't want to see it.  Not Starr, not his Shorty.  

He turned his attention to the details he had.  Malcolm.  The man who had lost his wife, and pined over her, not even able to step outside because he had lost her, was the same man who beat his daughter almost to death and took his baby son?  

"There has to be more to this," he said, aloud.  "A lot more.  Just what it is, I don't know."  He tried to call Blair, and he couldn't get a signal.  He was alone with it and alone with what he'd done.  

He'd sent the man to them.

When he had hired Malcolm, he'd been so sure about him.  He seemed genuine.  To beat a young girl to death, would have taken more strength than Todd gave him credit for; not a small man, but smaller than he was, and more delicate, it seemed, if that were the right word.  His hands were those of an artist; his fingers were slender and petite compared to Todd's, and his refined way of speaking and approaching conversation reflected years of specific upbringing.  He'd understood about Blair.  Most off, the man had been grateful to Todd for helping him to bridge the gap to a new life, so why in the HELL would he do this to my family?

The question was haunting him, and would be until the final day when he could confront him himself.  And there would be a confrontation, on the day he got his hands on him and beat him the same way he beat his daughter.  His beautiful, "pink" daughter, Starr.

Before he knew it, another hour had passed.  The guy had his son, and he began to guess at what he wanted him for.  He knew that his thinking would be skewed by his own experience.  Did he want to hurt him?  Molest him?  Was he a sick pervert who might brutalize and kill his little boy, for his own sadistic needs?  The face of Little Ray danced in his mind's eye for a moment, the way his hair bounced on his shoulders, and Todd's eyes filled with water.  

No.  He probably just wants money.  What did I tell him?  I'm filthy rich?  He's out for a buck, and the kid will come back, unscathed.  That's all, he wants money . . .

Then, he wondered why his daughter was beaten so badly if that were true, and tried Blair again.  Something to deflect his thoughts.  Just to hear her voice . . . just to . . . he remembered Skype, on his tablet, and how he had recorded her a few nights back.  He fished his tablet out of his bag and turned it on, and fumbling at first, located the file and played it.

Mr. Manning has asked me to make a verbal statement that he can tape record and save.  I, Blair Manning, will love him until the end of time.  No one else ever.  Not even a single look in another man's direction, and my question is, what other men?  When I'm around you, Mr. Manning, there's no one else in the world.  There never was.  I love you, My Love.  Get home soon.

He shut the device and covered his eyes with his hand perched at his brow.  Had he sent a crazed maniac into the solace and safety of their home?  And if he did, how could he find and destroy the man? 

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