Chasing the Monsters: 3

"So, how was y'ar evening, Dear Bea, and spending last night with The Mannings?"  the nun said.

"It was fine, Sister," she said, sitting down near her friend, and looking to the lunch plate in front of her.  "I don't think I can eat this.  We had quite a breakfast at Todd's."

The nun was positive that was true; Todd would have made a big production over his mother's visit and first morning meal with them.  "Ah, yes, well, it can sit or be saved for later."

"Yes, I know, Sister.  I will."

"I am a little concerned.  Ya seem upset, Dear."

"I'm worried. Sam, he's having nightmares.  And they're about Peter."

"Oh, Dear.  The little tyke is such a sweet child."

"He's been tainted, Sister.  Like Todd," her eyes filled.  "I don't want him to be hurt by Peter for the rest of his life in ways that go beyond Peter's death."

"He won't.  He has Todd, and Blair, and his family, and ya as well."

"He was so innocent.  Peter's filth has touched him.  Did you know Peter killed the dog?"

"Of course, yes.  I'd heard about it."

"He broke its neck.  Like he . . . did to Todd's cat.  It wasn't really Todd's cat, you know.  But he loved that animal.  Peter broke her neck with his hands.  In fact, that is how Todd figured out it was Peter when Starr told him that very fact."

The nun fidgeted a bit, hearing the additional news.  "That's . . . one horrific tale, My Dear Bea.  Of course, it's behind ya.  And behind Todd.  But for Sam, it seems to be a current thorn in his side."

"Yes.  And he's so innocent, Sister.  He broke my heart.  It brought me back . . . to . . . when Todd was a child."

"I can understand that."

The nun's expression must have alerted Bitsy.  "But I'm all right, I'm really fine.  It's been a tough couple of years, but I feel as if . . . I've come back to myself, somehow."

"Well, that is what counts.  And Ray Martino is a fool-proof way to do so, eh?"

"Yes, and also you, Sister.  You have been my constant friend and support."

"Thank ya, Bea.  I've enjoyed my time working with ya, and hope we can always remain friends."

"I'm sure of that," Bitsy said.

***

"What are you doing?"  Blair said, watching her husband get his suit on.

"Getting ready for work."

"Work?  All right, but I didn't think you were . . ."

"If Jack's going to dump college, he's going to work."

"Todd, you . . ."

"I know what you're going to say, and he can't just sit back and say he's not going to college and just think it's going to be easy."

"I don't think he thinks that, and you don't know what I was going to say."

"Well, I pretty much think I know."

"I was going to say it's a good idea."

He stopped.  "You were?"

"Yes.  I think it's good for him to have to work for things.  He can't just be handed everything.  That wouldn't be right."

"Well, that's what I plan to do."

"Okay, so what's your plot?"

"My plot is copyboy.  If he wants to move his way up, he can move his way up.  From the bottom."

"He'll balk.  When Zeus was running the paper, he let him write.  He spoiled him that way, so that . . . well, you know . . ."

Todd's eyes narrowed.  "I suppose I do.  Trying to compensate, maybe.  But it's not going to be that way now."

"I am not disagreeing.  I think you're right.  But one thing."

"What?"

"If you expect to drive him or force him to college this way, I'm not going along for that ride.  If he doesn't want college, he doesn't."  He didn't respond at first.  She continued, "I mean, he might not want to do school.  You are a different person, Todd.  You wanted it, and lost it.  Who says he wants it?  And besides, today, college can happen any year any time.  He could be twenty, twenty-five or fifty-five."

"I'm not going to talk about that part of it, Blair.  We're not going to see it the same."

"My Love," she said, slipping her arms through his left one, and hugging it, "I know what you lost.  I know it was important to you, and I know that why you lost it is what this is really about."  She rested her chin on his shoulder.  "But he's not you.  And, you can't make up for your mistakes that way."                                                                                                                                                                                                                    He side-eyed her.  "I can sure try."

***

Bea took her napkin off her lap, since she wasn't eating, and Sister Rebecca Katherine noticed that she had a new pale blue cardigan.  "I like you in blue, Dear," she said.

"Thank you, Sister.  Todd bought it for me," she smiled.

"He has good taste, then."

"Blair picked it out.  And the dress."

"Well, they both do, don't they?"

"Yes."

"What else can I do, Dear Bea?  Ya seem to want answers today."

"I . . . wanted to talk more about what I can do for Sam.  I can't get it out of my head."

"Ah, Sam.  Yes.  He's quite the little urchin.  He's precious."

"He's struggling so much, I want to help him."  Bitsy stood up, restlessly, and wrung her hands as she walked toward the exit, the nun following.  When they reached the hallway, they walked, arm in arm.  "I couldn't help Todd.  I . . . wasn't strong enough.  But I can help Sam.  If I can find a way."

"I think it's admirable of ya, Dear Bea, to want to help.  He sees Ray Martino, that must be a start."

"It must not be working, Sister.  Poor Sam is still plagued, as I shared with you.  It's months since Peter died.  And I want to help.  I want you to think of a way, or at least, help me to.  I failed Todd, I can't fail this boy."

"Y'ar not responsible for taking care of Sam, at least, not on y'ar own."

"But he's my grandson."  She was distraught.  She continued, "So, Sister, what can I do to help him?" as she opened her room door.

"I don't know.  It's a good thing y'ar trying already, but I'm not sure, outside of therapy, what that might be."

"I'll have to think," Bitsy said, sitting back down.  She got a far away look in her eyes, not anything that the sister worried about, but as if she was calculating the most difficult problem.

"Possibly, it's just to love him, eh?"

"No," Bitsy said.  "He already has that.  So much.  Todd and Blair love him, very deeply. And Jack, Starr.  I never knew about the impostor, what he did to Sam."

"Ah, that.  It's also behind them.  I understand it was minimal, but the child was and is afraid of him." Sister Rebecca Katherine then smiled.  "Ya've come so far, Dear Bea.  So far.  To be sitting here, hearing ya, first off, and seeing ya plan to help someone else.  It's a sure sign of healing."

"Oh, no, Sister," Bea said, looking at her and focusing on her eyes, "it's not like that.  I'm not healed.  I will never be healed of what that monster brought into my life.  I'll dream; I'll jump at the slightest sound; I'll cry sometimes, when someone says something that hits me; I'll draw things that . . . I can't stand thinking of, to rid my mind of them.  I'm not healed.  No," she finished, and her expression showed prevailing hurt.

"Ah, but that's the whole thing.  Those things will fade, I know they will.  And, I think ya just answered y'ar own question, as well."

***

"Todd, I hope I didn't bother ya?"  Timothy said, standing outside the open door of Unforgettable.  

Todd still held the knob in his hand, "No, Dad, how could you even think that?  Come in.  We're getting ready for work."

Timothy walked into Unforgettable and looked around the foyer.  "I never get tired of seeing how beautiful this place is, Todd.  Ya outdid y'arself."

"Thanks.  I guess she likes it, that's what counts."

"I came to see Sam, wanted to talk to him.  Is he around?"

"He is, let me get him for you," and Todd was off, in bounds, taking two steps at a time and up to the top before Timothy could exhale. 

In a few minutes, Sam came barrelling down the staircase.  "Grandpa!  Yay!" and jumped toward the man, who, luckily, was ready to grab him.  
"Oh, Sam, y'ar getting too big!  I'm an old man, and y'ar getting heavy."

"I am?"

"Ya are.  Wow," he said, feigning distress and placing the small, light boy on the foyer floor.

"I've been doing workouts with Jack."

"Well, whatever is working out, is working out, me boy!"

"Did you really come to see me?"

"Of course, now that there's not been soccer for a while, I miss our Wednesday afternoon times."

"Me, too."

"Well, I'm here now.  What would ya like to do?"

Todd said, "I'll just let you two hang out, I gotta go," and headed back upstairs.

Sam looked confused a little.  "I don't know.  Play outside?"

"Play what?  Hide and seek?"

Sam's face contorted a little with emotion.  Timothy could read it clearly: fear.  The boy said, "No, I'm getting too old for that game.  Hiding all the time."

"Oh, are ya now?"

"Yeah."

"Sam, what is ailing ya?"  Timothy said, following the boy into the family room.  He had plopped himself onto a side chair and was lost in thought.

"Nothing."

Timothy sat on the ottoman across from him.  "Yes, something is wrong.  I can tell.  Now tell y'ar old Grandad about it."

Sam sighed.  "I can't play Hide and Seek anymore, because I keep on remembering when I had to hide in the snow pile.  It wasn't fun, and now, I don't like it anymore."

"That was a long time back, eh?"

He nodded.

"And y'ar still thinking of it, sometimes?"

"All the time."

"All the time?"

"Well, not every minute, but a lot of the time."

"Do ya want to tell me about it," Timothy said, moving next to Sam and putting his arm around him.

Sam gingerly rested his head on Timothy's shoulder.  "How come he had to kill Mixie?"

"He was a sick fellow."

"Sick?"

"Sick, like here," Timothy said, touching his temple.

"Zeus, my other dad, was," he said, "my birth father.  He was sick."

"He was sick because someone made him that way.  Do ya know he was brainwashed?  Do ya know what that is?"

"Yeah, I know.  So, was Peter brainwashed?  To do this stuff to his kid?"

Timothy found himself swallowing.  "No.  He was just sick.  On his own."

Sam thought for a minute.  "How come Dad's not sick like him?"

Timothy looked heavenward, and then back to Sam.  "Y'ar father's different.  He fought off the sickness, Laddy.  He was strong enough to be better than that."

"Well, Mixie's dead.  And that guy Peter hurt Starr, and Gramma Bitsy, and Dad."

"Yes, that's true."

"Someone at school said that he killed some lady."  Sam looked at Timothy.  The innocence in his eyes was difficult to not turn away from.

Timothy said, "Yes, he did.  He killed a lady, who was trying to help Ray, I believe."

"Did he hurt my brother?"

"Now come on, ya've seen ya brotha!  He's doing fine, eh?"

Sam half-smiled.  "He's running everyone ragged, still," he said.  "He makes us chase him a lot."

"See?  I'd say he's fine, I would."  He paused.  "But y'ar not, Sam.  This is bothering ya, isn't it?"

Sam nodded.  "Yeah.  I don't tell Mom or Dad, because they feel bad.  Dad thinks it's his fault for having that guy as a father.  He can't help that, Mom said.  He couldn't help that Peter was his dad."

"No, a person can't help who their parents are.  Like ya, Sam," he said, turning the boy's face to his.  Sam's eyes were larger and wet around the edges, as he looked into Timothy's face.  Timothy continued, "Ya can't help who y'ar birth father was, just like Todd can't help who his parents were, and Blair, and everyone."

"Mom has Addie."

"Yes, she does."

"Addie's real nice."

"She is."

"Peter was not Dad's real father."

"No, he wasn't."

"But Dad said he was the only father he had.  Until you."

"Yes, all that's true, Sam."

"Do you think it means I'll be like Dad, or will I be like Zeus?"

Timothy sighed.  "Ya'll be like Sam."

"Huh?"

"Ya'll be like y'arself.  Ya won't be like anyone else but y'arself.  Y'ar father is nothing like either of his Dads."

"Kids at school said Dad did bad stuff, too."

Timothy paused.  "When he was younger, he did make mistakes.  But he paid for them.  And not with money."

The boy thought, looking at his hands.  "I wonder what I'll be like, then?"

"Ya'll be a combination of things.  A little of y'ar Mom, a little of Todd, and of all the people who love ya, you'll have the good things in them in ya.  It's the way it is.  But ya'll still be y'arself, and make y'ar own choices.  Y'ar own spirit in here," he touched the boy's chest, "will guide ya.  Who ya really are will lead.  But ya won't be like Peter Manning."

"Will I be like Zeus?"

"Not if ya don't want to."

Sam seemed slightly relieved.  "I want to be brave, like Dad."

"I'm sure ya will be.  Ya just have to stop y'ar worrying.  It's not good for ya."

"I can't help it sometimes.  I keep dreaming about Peter.  I dream about Mixie dying, about Peter coming after us, about me, in the snow pile, about Starr getting beaten up.  That and other stuff."

"Those are very hard things.  But, ya must look at how things are now.  Y'ar sister is fine, y'ar parents are here, Ray's fine.  Y'ar alive.  And ya lost Mixie, I know that, but loss is part of living, eh?"  His own voice faltered at that.

"Yeah.  Like you lost your son.  Uncle Eric.  Right?"

Timothy gulped, and said, "Yes, like Uncle Eric.  We can't control what happens with life and death, only what we do in living."

"Okay, Grandpa.  I think I get it.  I hope I stop having these dreams, though."

"Ya will, Sam.  Just try and think happy thoughts a'fore ya head to sleep."

"I'll try it," he said.  "Gramma Bitsy said I can bring Dad in my dreams to chase off Peter.  Is that true?"

"I don't know, Lad, I suppose ya could try."

"Maybe," he said.  "Can we go play now?"

"Sure.  What do ya want to play?"

"Catch.  I'll get the football," he said, running off.

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