Chasing the Monsters: 35

"Where ya going?"  Todd asked her as she got out of bed.

"Take care of your children, Daddy.  One needs a feeding, and another needs to be slowed down, from my guess, and your poor mother might need a rest.  Unless of course, you want to stop this family thing, on a Sunday."

"Well, I'm not going to lie here all day.  Momma's here, the kids are all home.  We should probably do something familyish."

"Like?"

"Not sure, movie?  Or, cooking something?"

"Maybe you," she said, hopping down off the bed, "should take a break from all the stuff you dealt with in Chicago," she said, rounding the corner, "and make tacos."  She ran her hand up his torso and put both hands on his shoulders and began to knead.

"Uh, well, that feels good."

"Okay," she whispered in his ear, "now can you get up and ready for today?"

He said, "Yeah, okay.  I won't get into this CPD thing today.  But the next time I get to my computer, I'm on this.  I'm getting the entire roster of the police department during that time period, and I'm off and running."

"Fair enough."

"Do we have the stuff for tacos?"

"Wouldn't you know it?  I just happened to order it all this week."

"You think of everything," he said, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her waist, he looked up at her.

With the light the way it was coming in, the greenish brown of his eyes was more evident.  He was beautiful, as always.  They seemed so clear and drew her in.  "Sometimes."

They walked out of bedroom, arm in arm, and stopped when they heard classical music coming from Sam's room.  Todd said, "Now, what's that about?"

"I'm not sure," she said, clearly curious.  They moved closer to the room.  Both Bitsy and Sam were painting.  His was full of simplistic lines and colors, but they could clearly understand what was on the canvas.  Hers was a sweeping, beautiful landscape of the Unforgettable grounds.  

Todd said, from the door, "Hey, you two.  Where are the other kids?"

"Still asleep," Bitsy said, "where else?  We must have tired them out yesterday."

Todd smiled, "Hmf, I guess you've got it all under control, eh, Momma?"

"I think so, yes."  She went back to her painting.

Sam was intently working on his, a little paint smear on his cheek, and his tongue out as he worked.  Blair said, "Hey, My Big Boy, that's beautiful."

"Oh, thanks, Mom.  Do you know what it is?"

"Yes, I think so.  It looks like Jewel when she was born?"

"Yep."

"It's lovely, Sam.  I like the fireplace."

"Thanks."

"Well, we're going down to start the tacos, okay?  Maybe in an hour or so we'll have tacos for brunch and movies."  Todd said.

"Sounds good," Sam answered, not looking up from his work.

"Jack's in his room, upset over a conflict with Jenna, it seems."  Bitsy related.

"Okay, I'll check on him," Todd said, heading out the door.

Before going toward the stairs, Blair said, "Sam, I'll let you know when it's time to wash up for brunch, then."

"Okay, Mom," he called after her.

Todd poked his head in Jack's room.  His son was lying on the bed, on his back, elbows out behind his head.  "You're not texting, so either all your fingers broke in a freak accident, or something's up."

"Maybe," Jack said, distractedly.

"You don't want to talk about it?"  Todd asked.

"Not really, no."

"Okay, just, if you change your mind . . ."

"It's Jenna.  And me."

"Okay."  Todd stood by the door, waiting to see if Jack would talk more.

"Dad, I . . . I don't know."

"It's okay not to know.  Really.  I'm sorry for pushing you either way.  It's . . . your decision, Jack, ultimately.  It's your life."

His son sat up.  "Thanks, Dad, really."

"It's okay, I'm headed down, you coming now, or . . . ?"

"I'll be down in a minute, thanks."

"K," Todd said, walking off.  He took the stairs quickly, and then said, "Well, the teen is in his angst," as he turned the corner into the kitchen.

"What is that in your hand?" she asked.

"Me, uh, nothing," he put his hands behind his back.

"Tawd?"

"My tablet.  I just figured while the taco meat was cooking, I'd . . ."

"Oh, you, just get me started over here, and then go ahead.  You've got your teeth into this, and there's no turning back."

He sat at the table, and for a moment, couldn't stop watching her.  She had her hair up, loosely in a clip, and some strands of it grazed her neck.  In pajama lounge pants, silky in a black pattern, and a camisole covered with a light sweater, she couldn't have looked more beautiful.  Again, a pang of the hurt he had brought her coursed through his veins before he relaxed, when she saw him looking and smiled at him, walking over and placing her hand through his hair.  "Want something?"

"No, not right now," he said, though he did want something, and it was her.  It would have to wait.  For the moment. 

***

"Mr. Ribsky?" Timothy said, walking into the man's small compartment of an office.  
He stood.  "Jack, please."  They shook hands.

"Ya know, Jack is my grandson's name."

"Ah, Jack Manning," he said, sitting.  "I've heard a little about him.  Not much actually, just enough."

"Yes, well, Todd's my adopted son, ya do know that?"

"Yes, he's mentioned it.  Told me to look out for you."

"Hmf.  All right."

"So you came by to deal with the situation you mentioned on the phone the other night, Timothy?"

"I want to help resolve the issues surrounding my son's painful past."

Ribsky looked at the other older man carefully, almost squinting a little at first, and then said, "I'll do what I can.  What do you need?"

"First, the identity, if possible, somehow, of a cop who may have . . . gotten a call for help from my boy when he was a lad, and brushed the actions of that monster Peter Manning under the carpet, so to speak."

Ribsky's throat worked.  "Well, as we discussed, we need proof it even happened.  Got any?"

"No.  But it seems it did happen.  Todd, as a little boy, called the police, and no one ever came.  That's a crime, eh?"

Jack slowly lowered the files he was holding to the desk, his expression, almost confused.  "Someone at the CPD would have had to do that.  Of course, it's from a child's memory, and it's years ago.  Could be false," he said, and he didn't believe his own words, so he went on, "But if it's true, it's opening a huge can of worms.  "

"Are ya squeamish about creepy crawlies?"  Timothy asked, now sitting across from Jack Ribsky.  

"No, in fact, if it's true, I don't want those worms to be given the same title I have.  Whoever they are, they're not cops.  Let's just say I'm starting to doubt in my fellow officers, but not entirely convinced yet."

"From what Todd says, it's so.  Of course, these are memories that have been slowly revealing themselves to him, for the last few years.  Recently, they culminated in the events of last year, ya recall."

"That's a hard thing to research, all these years later.  What, it's forty years ago," Ribsky said, sitting back in his swivel chair, and it creaked.  "Many of the policemen employed during that time are not even with us anymore.

"'Tis true."

He didn't say much, just then.  Instead, he swiveled his chair, slightly right and left a few times.  Then he said, "And?"

"I've also filed a pile of proxy paperwork so I can stand in for my son and get that house out from under him," Timothy said.

For Jack, this part of the request wasn't keeping his interest.  His mind went back, repeatedly, to the idea of a small child calling the heroes of every childhood for help and being left to a torture chamber instead.

"Hey, Jack?" Timothy repeated.  "Did ya hear me?"

"No, I didn't, not that last part, I'm sorry.  I was . . . distracted."

"Yes, I can relate to that meself.  Whenever I think of what it must have been like back there in Chicago those years ago, I lose track of time somehow."

He nodded.  "To find the lowlifes who did this, then."

"Todd suggested that I hire ya, and have ya help with the case."

"I see.  Family obligation is powerful, isn't it?"  He was speaking from experience.

"This kind, yes.  My son and wife were taken from me years back.  A violent death.  I found him again, happenstance, actually.  And there he was.  He'd been held by terrorists, the same that had Todd for eight years."

"Strange coincidences."

"Purely."

"One thing at a time, then."  Ribsky got up, and walked to the file cabinet and returned a small pile of files.  Turning to Timothy, he said, "First things first.  Why would someone do this to a six-year old boy?  What would they gain?  Someone who had a reason to hide Peter Manning's sick pleasures.  Which leads me to the ideas of financial problems, you know, gambling debts, bills, greed.  Could possibly be blackmail.  Something Peter possibly knew about someone else.  Leaves a lot of room for conjecture and a long list for motivations."

"Must say, I always saw policemen as heroes."  Timothy said.

"Everyone does, likely, at some time in their lives.  And, we have let some of those people down.  Which brings back me to the next part of this."

"Todd."  Timothy said.

"Todd and his mother, and my sister-in-law."

"Yes, Connie, wasn't it?"

"Yes.  I suppose she's just another of his victims.  She . . . we're pretty sure she was protecting that baby when she died."

"Likely."

"Anyway, this does interest me, Timothy.  I could barely sleep when Todd and Blair left that night.  I was part of the CPD for a long time.  To think . . . I just have to look into it," he said.

"I understand.  Well, at least we have an agreement then," he put out his hand.

"Yes, I'll take the case, sure."

"When ya find something, please let me know."

"I will be in touch," he said, letting go of hands and leading Timothy out.

Jack Ribsky walked back to his desk, and sat in his chair.  "Now, where should I start?  Chicago Police, don't let me down on this.  Don't let me find out you overlooked everything unholy in that house that ended up taking Connie's life."

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