Chasing the Monsters: 66

Tricia Miller sat back down, and her eyes were different; her shell was cracking.  "Tell me, please, Timothy, is your son whole?  Is he able to live his life after  . . . what Peter Manning took from him?"

Timothy looked to the ceiling.  "My son is in his forties now.  It has taken most of his life to do exactly what you just described, and it has just recently come to a head.  He's just now being able to begin to let go," he heard his own voice crackle.

She looked to her hands, and then said, "He has to know that my husband suffered every day.  He has to know that.  If it wasn't drugs, or alcohol, it was depression and morbid thoughts.  We were never happy.  Nothing was ever the same.  He never got over what role he played."

"I appreciate hearing that," Timothy said, "but I'm not sure the suffering of someone else can take away what was done.  But I will tell him."

"All right," she said.  "One more thing."

"Certainly," he said, and Ribsky seemed more like a statue than anything else.  Timothy knew that the ending to his quest was the beginning of the man's bout with grief.

"My husband died thinking of this.  He knew more than I'm saying, but I don't think it's necessary, because I have the sense that you know it all, as well."

"Yes, I do," Timothy said.

"He died thinking of it.  And when I say that, I mean it.  You see, Ben died at his own hand.  He used his service revolved and shot himself."

Jack immediately got up, and raced to the door and out of the house, and Timothy, not wanting to dart out and desert the woman after her admission, said, "I'm so very sorry, and ya must understand if I have to go.  Ya see, Mr. Ribsky's wife died eight days ago, and it was suicide.  Can ya excuse me, please?"  He stood.

"Of course.  It's amazing how many people that monster was able to destroy, without hardly trying."

Timothy nodded, taking her hand and covering it with his other.  He said, "I must go.  Do ya need me to return?"

She said, "No," her tears spilling over.  "No. I'm fine, and glad that I can finally get this off my soul."

He nodded and went outside.

"Jack, wait," Timothy called after the detective, who was racing in the opposite direction of the car.  "Where are ya going?"

"I just gotta go, wherever.  Let me go, Broderick."

"Ya can't run from this," he called after him, gaining on him, but not reaching.  There was still a good stretch between them.  But Timothy followed him without fail.  "Running won't help ya.  It will catch up, sooner or later," he huffed.

Finally, Jack stopped, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, and breathing heavily.  Timothy came up beside him, did the same stance, and said, "Where were ya goin'?"

Ribsky looked at Timothy, and his face was streaked with sweat, and now, Timothy saw, tears.  "I don't even know.  I just . . . started walking."

"Ya need to come back to the car, ya do.  Ya have the keys, and I'll be stranded.  I know where ya need to go.  It will fix what ails ya."

He stood.  "And I'm supposed to trust a man who doesn't drink anymore?"

"Ya have to.  Who else is here?"  Timothy said, starting to head back to the car.

Jack Ribsky followed.  When they got to the car, Jack got in, and Timothy did as well.  Ribsky said, "Where to?"

"To Chicago, where ya live.  There's someone ya have to go and see.  It's time, and believe me, it will be an important visit."

***

"Tell me something?  Yeah, sure, Momma," he said, walking to the sitting area.  He started a small fire in the fireplace, and sat down.  

She sat across from him, and folded her hands over her knees.  "I wanted to talk to you . . . about something I did."

He shrugged.  "Okay.  What did you do?"

"I am not sure you remember it.  And I . . .  believe you should know the truth."

"I remember everything, Momma."  It felt so good to mean it.

"How do you know that?"

"I just do.  I remembered the last pieces of it, in Greece.  Funny, that's where I started to remember a couple of years ago."

"It took years for you to remember it all?"

"Yeah, I guess so.  With the captivity and what they did to me there, the PTSD, I guess it compounded it all.  When I first met Blair, I remembered almost nothing about Peter, except the surface bad Dad stuff.  I feel like I've got it all now, somehow."

"I feel I have so many sorries to say."

"You've said them all.  I've already told you what I feel about all that.  There's nothing to be sorry for."

There was a long pause.  "Todd?"

"Yeah, Momma?"

"Do you remember . . . about the sparrows?"

He swallowed.  "Yes."

"I'm . . . sorry.  I was sick, Todd.  Believing it helped me believe there was an escape."

"I know.  But you loved me.  The only person in my first 25 years who did.  Some of the things you taught me actually helped me survive it all."

Her hands shook, and she tried to keep them still.  "I was wrong.  I left you."  Her voice was small and soft.

"You did what you had to.  You were under Mitch's spell, anyway.  You wanted to be free of Peter.  Who wouldn't?"

She didn't address the mention of Mitch.  "Peter wouldn't let me take you, when I went.  I planned to get you back.  Mitch promised, at first, to get you back for me.  Then, something changed, and he told me I'd be able to have you back, soon.  I followed what he said, the lie about my new life.  When I got back, I begged him.  I pleaded.  He finally agreed that he would get you.  A few days later, he said you had died in a car accident.  Shortly after that, Peter came to get me," she took a breath, "and then, the Time of Black."

"You tried," he said.  "Besides, it wasn't all bad, all the time.  When I pleased him, things were okay.  He bought me a lot of stuff.  I got that car, got in college and he footed the bill.  When I messed up . . ."

"Please," she interrupted, "wait."  She seemed to be gathering herself together.  

"I don't have to say more, really, about that.  You know what he was capable of."

"Yes," she said, breaking down.

He watched her cry into her hand, and tenderly said, "Momma, it's okay.  It's all over with."

"It will never be all over with for me," she said.  "I left you there.  With that monster."

Todd felt nothing but pity for her.  "Hey, we all screw up, Momma.  Don't be so hard on yourself.  Laurence had the opportunity to free both of us, and used you, in your weakest time.  If there's anyone to blame, aside from Peter himself, it's him."

She was quiet a moment.  When she could finally talk again, she said, "I jumped.  You fell because of me."

"No, that's not what happened, Momma."

"What do you mean?  It is what happened, I was there.  I jumped off, you called my name, I can still hear it.  Then you lost your footing and fell.  You told me that yourself.  You told Peter and I both."

It's not what happened, Momma.  I looked down, thought you were dead.  Called to you, and you didn't answer.  I didn't want to live anymore, so I let go . . . your son let go of life at seven, and somehow survived . . .

Todd mustered up composure and looked at his mother's face.  She was crying; the tip of her nose was red.  Her eyes were filled with tears, and more were on her cheeks.  She seemed frail and small, and he willfully made a decision, seeing her pain.  "Oh, yeah, that's right.  I forgot.  That is what happened.  But it was a mistake, not because of you, Momma.  I just slipped.  I was just a little kid.  You know how that is."

Blair, standing outside the door, her arms folded over her chest, listened.  She felt water drop from her eyes when she realized her husband was keeping this last truth from his mother, and fully understood why.

"I wasn't well.  I was drunk, often, and on medications.  I wasn't in my right mind," Bitsy said, softly.

"I'd be drunk too, if Peter was my man."

She smiled, but that only gave way to more sobbing.  "He was so bad, Todd.  He was so mean . . . he was just so hateful."

"I know," he said, patting the sofa next to him.  

She got up, and went, sitting beside him.  "I'm sorry for the things he did."

"You can't be sorry for what you're not responsible for.  You have to let go, Momma, like I'm trying to do.  I spent most of my life chasing this monster, either trying to please him, or within myself, or in my dreams or memories.  It's over.  He has no power now, over either of us.  You have to let go, sooner or later."

Bitsy leaned her head against her son, and shut her eyes, a few last tears springing from them.  She said, "Then I'll try."  Both were quiet for a few moments.  She said, "I am so happy that I found you again, and that I could get well enough to be with you and your family, Todd.  It's the happiest thing in my whole life, being with you all."  She sniffled.

He wanted to cry with her, but instead, he said, "Hey, don't be getting tears or nose stuff on my shirt," and gently touched the top of her head.

"I won't."

"Now, I should tell you . . ." he stopped.

"Yes, what is it?  I want to hear, whatever it is."

"I just wanted to say . . . I wanted to thank you, Momma, for trying to be there for me."

"I didn't do a very good job, Todd," she said, continuing to cry.

"You did, Momma.  You did the best you could, and that's all anyone could do.  So, thank you," he said.  He put his arms around her.

She hugged her son, her head turned on his chest like a child.  He found himself comforting her.  Blair studied him, as he held strong.  Turning his head, he caught her eyes, as she cried but smiled, with her hands to her lips, as if in prayer.

He nodded once to his wife, and turned back to his mother, disengaging their hug.  Bitsy wiped under her eyes, and said, "Well, I'm relieved you're home, and in one piece.  When she ran after you, I knew Blair would make sure you were all right, Todd."  She turned to her daughter-in-law.  "Blair, I'm so grateful that you are The One.  I knew it when I first saw you, when I didn't know who I was.  Remember?"

She smiled and walked to the woman, putting her arms around her, and they embraced, as Todd stood, shoving his hands into his front pants' pockets, awkwardly, but with a sure and satisfied look on his face.

Bitsy said, after letting go of Blair, "Well, I'm going down to help with the kids.  You've both been flying for hours.  You should rest before Family Night."

"Thanks, Momma," Todd said, as she left.  As she walked out, Todd watched her go, and Blair watched him.  Then, she sat beside him on the couch.  It was quiet for a few moments, as he gazed into the fire.  She said, "You know, a girl can tell a lot from how a man treats his mother."

"She can, huh?"

"Yep.  What you did for her tonight was beautiful, Todd."

He smiled modestly, and interwove his fingers with her.  "You heard?"

She nodded.

He looked at Blair, and shrugged.  "She's my mother.  The only one I knew."

"I know.  I know, Todd."

"She knows, though."

"What?"

"That you're the one.  You've always been the one.  She knows."

"And you're mine," she said, embracing him.  "I'm so proud of you, and to be your wife."

His eyes moistened.  "Proud enough to hit the old tub?"

"You know it.  I love you," she said, kissing his cheek, and then opening her blouse before heading to the bathroom, backward, their hands still joined.

He followed her.

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