Failings of the Fathers: 68

The chains scraped across the floor, making rustling clangs.  John was in the gray interrogation room, waiting.  When the door opened, he had to admit, he wasn't surprised to see Mitch less strong, less confident and more old than he remembered.  He said, "Laurence."

"McBain.  How is that hot little red head of yours?"

"Whatever, I'm here for a purpose.  Seems someone from your distant past is actually alive. Did you know?"

The man was genuinely confused.  "Know?  Know what?"

"That Peter Manning is living."

Mitch Laurence's bitter and shit-eating-grin demeanor faded.  "What?"

"He has Manning's son."

Mitch's face displayed a mix between regret and rejoicing.  "Seems he beat me to it."

"No, he didn't.  He actually outdid you, in planning and execution.  But that's not important now."

"It's not?"  He laughed.  "Try telling that to Todd and Blair.  Which kid is missing, the bastard, the little one, the teen?"

"The toddler, Ray."  John said, "He's been taken.  Starr was beaten almost to death."

"She's a smart mouth, no wonder.  Takes after her father."

"Let's just put it this way.  Peter's not the only one from your past who has appeared recently.  I am sure you remember this."

"I don't think I care much about anything you're going to say today."  John saw a crack in Mitch's armor.

"Really?  Not even that the man may have this little boy on your compound, somewhere in Illinois, and that Bitsy may be there, as well."

"Bitsy?  She's . . . not anywhere near Peter Manning."  He seemed genuinely worried.  

He's afraid.  John said, "And how do you know that?  She's not a prisoner, like you, she can go where she chooses."

"She wouldn't choose that."

"If he had her son, or her grandchild, she might."

"Let me see her.  I want to see her."

I've got him.

***

"It's morning, of course he's awake," Connie said, when Peter, who had finally gotten some rest, was disturbed by Little Ray, banging on the table with his spoon.  She turned to the child.  "Stop that, now."

Ray was not cooperating.  "I want Daddy.  Mommy."

"They're not here.  Yet."  Peter said, with a growl.

"Daddy.  Mommy."  The toddler repeated.

"Shut him up," Peter warned, looking through a newspaper.

"Daddy! Mommy!"  The little boy yelled this time, at the top of his lungs.

"Shut that kid up!"  Peter said, pounding his fist on the table.  "If you don't, I will."

Connie was flustered.  She looked at Peter with a question in her face.  She'd never seen him around children, or as angry.  She picked up Little Ray and carried him out of the room.

Peter Manning continued to scour the paper that he had until he found it: the address to The Sun.  His plan's next step was coming to fruition, as he took the information down, and got his keys.  "I'm going to mail the package," he called to her.

She was in the back room, and what became clear to her after a few minutes in it, was that it was Todd's bedroom most of his young life.  In the years of time that had passed, it was dusty and unkempt, but still bared the images of a young boy's world.  There was an airplane suspended from the ceiling, a few trophies on a shelf, a few books strewn on a small wooden desk.  Somehow, in looking around, she felt a sense of sadness as well.  She couldn't place it, but everything seemed hollow and empty in that room.  She looked at Ray, who was quiet now and chewing on the piece of bagel she'd handed him.  She said, "You mustn't upset Grandpa," she began.  "He's crabby.  He's a crabby man."

The toddler surprised her, when he looked up and giggled at what she said.  "Crabby man!" and his laugh carried throughout the barren room.

She laughed, slightly, as well, "Yes, the crabby man!  You must be quiet.  Can you be quiet?"

"No," he said, not as if he were being disrespectful, just honest.

She almost laughed again.  He was adorable, endearing.  She set him on the bed and gave him a wooden puzzle to work on.  He went to work immediately, and she noted, was very quick to solve it.  "You're very smart, Raymond."

"Ray, Mommy says."

"Ray, then."

"Mommy?  Daddy?"  he said, questioning, and in looking at her, she saw his little eyes were brimming.  

They're good parents, he loves them so.  "They're coming."

"Coming here?"  His voice took on a gleeful upswing at the end of the sentence.

"Yes.  They're coming soon."

She thought over Peter's plan again.  The package would be sent, untraceable, to The Sun.  Todd would open it, see the items they took from the baby:  a small toy in his pocket, a lock of his hair, and a sock.  Then, he would see the cryptic message "come alone," and Peter had told her Todd would know where to go by something he included in the box.  She didn't know what the something was, or how Todd would know, but something in her gut told her not to bother finding out.  Then Todd would come, sign a document that Peter had already drawn up, and trade his signature for the baby, end of story.  The last part of the plan included she and Peter, disappearing to a small island that he planned to procure.  He would use part of the fortune and live out the rest of their lives, undisturbed, with all the money they wanted and needed.  

She sighed.  "Not a bad plan, really," she said.  "No one hurt.  Not much trouble.  Todd would certainly give every penny.  He'd have The Sun, though, still, to run and live off.  After all, Peter deserves it, for taking Todd in when he was born, with nowhere to go."  She'd noticed Peter couldn't get ownership of The Sun, or arrange it, and didn't care.  He'd let that go.  "Too hard to liquidate, too time consuming," was his answer.

One thing did puzzle her.  She was not sure how Peter would manage to stop Todd from calling the police after it was done.  He assured her he knew how.  Then, for a moment, her mind flashed on his reaction and sneering expression when she had told him that Todd's mother was alive, and she wasn't sure why, but it made her stomach slightly hurt.  "What Todd said, can't be true," she mulled over.

The toddler said, "Mommy, now."  This distracted her.

"Not now, but she is coming," she lied.  But, she knew there was a chance that Todd would bring Blair.  Even Peter had mentioned it as a possibility.  He said he knew Todd well.  She wondered how true that was, considering he hadn't seen him in many years.  But he had studied his life, in detail.  In fact, she had sometimes thought it bordered on obsession.

"Mommy," he said, sadly, and lay down on the bed dusty bed.  He curled up and held the little stuffed toy they had given him to play with.  He hugged it to his chest, and sobbed, small catches in his throat.  

She stroked his curls.  "Now, now.  No crying, Ray.  Mommy and Daddy are coming.  Soon."

***

"See Bitsy?  Hmf.  Why would you want to do that?"  John said in response to Mitch.

"I don't have to tell you that, I just want to see her, that's all.  I have a right to visitors."

"Say that I can arrange that?  Why should I?"

"The compound is located thirty-five miles out of Evanston.  Isn't that what you wanted?"

"I suppose.  That's a little general.  I'd need more specifics."

"You bring me Bitsy, and I'll tell you."

"Can't wait that long."

"Fine.  Bring her here, and I'll draw a map.  Except . . ."

"I'm not bringing her anywhere unless I get something I can use.  Are the woods where Bitsy was supposedly killed near the compound?"

"Yes.  But why would he go to the compound?  He'd go to his own house."

John froze, realizing he may have been duped.  Then, he continued.  "His house.  What makes you say that?"

Mitch looked almost green.  "It was his sanctuary.  His place, where he controlled people.  I . . . can't do much more to describe it, only what I've been told.  Not a pretty sight.  I never saw it first hand, but I heard enough."

John didn't respond.  He had his own thoughts about Todd's childhood home.  "All right.  But that's a little obvious.  I think he'd be more clever."

"Now, bring her.  Here's the address."  He wrote on the paper John had been holding out to him.  "Bring her, and I'll give whatever else you need."

John stood.  "I'll ask her if she wants to come.  You know, Laurence, that she doesn't speak?"

"Yeah, I . . ." he swallowed.

"She was beaten so badly, she can't.  Brain damage, I think."

"Bring her."

"I'll get back to you," he said, walking out.  "If she wants to come, I'll arrange something."  John walked out, certain he would never even ask her.

Mitch looked to the guard standing next to him.  "Going to bring me back to my humble abode?"

The guard said, "Let's go."

He walked, dragging chains behind him.  

***


"Stop smothering that kid," Peter said, peeking into Todd's old room.  Connie had finally soothed the little boy to sleep with promises of his parents.

"He's asleep, isn't that what you'd prefer?"

He looked over her to the sleeping child.  "Never mind that."

"All right, then, what's next?"

"Whatever I say."

"Did you send the package?"

"Yep."

"By private messenger?"

"Yep."

"Okay, then, we should expect something, in a few hours.  Should I pack?"

"Yeah, go and pack.  Get things ready.  Soon, we'll be out of here."

She went out the door, and Peter sat on the bed by Ray.  "Out of here, with you along, for the ride.  You deserve to be raised right, and away from your too-soft father.  He always was a punk."

Ray woke up, and saw Peter, and screamed.  "Mommy!"

"Shhhhh, shut it, kid," Peter said, with a mean sneer.

"Mommy!  Daddy!  You're bad.  You're a bad man.  You hit Starr."

"That's right, I did.  And if you don't shut up . . ."  he leaned in toward the little boy.

Connie appeared back at the door, "Peter?  What are you doing?"

"Teaching him who's boss, what else?  Just like that wimp of a father of his.  Always whining about something."

"He's just a little boy, just a baby!"

"He's not a baby!"  Peter boomed, and Connie admitted to herself that she hadn't seen him this way.  Her heart was thumping in her chest, and Peter said, "He needs to be taught a lesson."

"No, he's just a child.  I'll make him be quiet, just give me a few minutes," she said, going toward them.

Peter snatched Ray up under one arm.  "I'm pretty sure I know exactly what to do.  I've been a father before, and you, you don't even have kids."

Ray was crying, close to hysteria, hanging off Peter's arm like a rag doll.  Of course, he was kicking wildly.  She said, "That doesn't matter, Peter," and she forced herself to keep a calm, steady voice.  For some reason, she flashed on Todd Manning, in her sister's living room: "Why did you leave that house and have it boarded up and never sell it?"

But he couldn't have been right.  He couldn't.  Not the man she had slept with, loved, and cared for, for almost thirty years.  Peter was just angry.  He was just tired.  He just wanted the money he rightfully deserved.  "Let me take him, I can quiet him," she offered again.

The toddler was really screaming now, and crying, loudly, in complaint to Peter's tight grip on him.  Peter snarled, "He needs to be toughened up.  And he's going to listen."

He attempted to go past her, but wasn't ready for her to grab onto his arm, and pull with all her might.  He turned to her with the fire of the end of days in his eyes.  He put the toddler down, who stood, tear-stained, and she said, "Go, run!  Go and play!" before Peter raised one arm and backhanded her to the floor.

Ray ran out to the living room.  He jumped onto the couch, and hid under the blanket, crying.  

***

John was in his office, when he detected a light knock on the door.  "Yeah?"

The door cracked open, and Timothy Broderick poked his head in.  "Hello, John."

"Timothy.  I can't say I expected this."

"My son is . . . facing something difficult."

"Both of them are, I would say.  How's things in Switzerland?"

His face was forlorn, tired.  He walked into the office, and perched himself, with his right hand, against one of the chairs.  "Eric passed on."

John's face showed a mix of surprise and compassion.  "I'm sorry, I had no idea."

"Thank ya.  No one would have an idea.  We haven't quite let it be known.  He . . . went peacefully, but it's still almost impossible for me to talk about without blubbering like a fool."  Timothy wiped his eyes.

"You're not a fool to love your sons," John said, handing him a tissue box.  The older man just used his sleeve.  John added, "I see you've been hanging around someone a lot lately."

"I suppose, and I'm grateful for Todd.  I hope he'll forgive my absence.  It's difficult, but it's done.  I had to be where I was needed most."

"I see.  Then you came home for Todd's sake?"  John asked.

"Yes."  Timothy circled the chair, and sat.  "I'm concerned.  To say the least."

"Go on."

"With Peter alive, there's no telling what could happen."

"I've got the address of Mitch's compound.  Both Todd and Blair feel like that might be where Peter's hiding out."

He smirked, slightly.  "Hmf.  Then both Todd and Blair would be lying to ya, they would."

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