Chasing the Monsters: 63

A few days had passed, and Todd and Blair felt rested and ready to go back to their children.  Blair noticed how pensive Todd was, and how much clarity seemed to be in front of the both of them.  Most, she could feel, in his body and his touch, the freedom and the lack of tension.  She hadn't felt that most of their life together.

They'd stayed an additional day, and soaked up all of the beauty of Greece that they missed the first time.  Then, packing the few clothing items and the large sacks of gifts they purchased for the family, they boarded Todd's private jet and waited for take off.

She said, "I'm glad we stayed, Todd."

"I'm glad, too.  I feel, like I'm rid of . . . stuff."

"Maybe you are."

"I just . . . feel different, is all."

"A good different," she said, tucking an arm in his.

"Yeah, only a few things to be cleared up, and that's up to Dad and Jack Ribsky."

She was surprised, "You mean it, don't you?  You're out of this."

"Yeah, I mean it.  I trust them to handle it.  Whoever it is, will pay, if he or she hasn't already."

"So what is next for us, Mr. Manning?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Manning.  I guess our son goes off to college, and we raise our children."

"Our children.  That sounds perfect." 

"What else is there?"

"Just you and me, I guess."

"Yeah, just you and me.  And Momma."

"Right, Momma.  What are you going to do about . . .  what you remembered?"

"Nothing.  She knows about it.  She doesn't need me to tell her."

"You're right."

"I am.  Remember back when she was being treated, she wanted to go with the sparrows?  I knew what she meant, I just didn't remember yet that I jumped."

"That must be why you were so scared when Sam went up to the roof that day."

"Maybe.  That's what Peter's voice was saying."

"What?"

"That Sam was braver than I was.  That I didn't even have the guts to kill myself."

"He had that wrong.  You were strong enough to choose to live.  And I'm glad."

They were quiet a moment.  He said, "Blair, we never talk about your life.  It's always been about me.  Somehow that seems...not fair."

She hesitated.  "Nothing much to tell."

"There must be, things?  I mean, you were . . . a foster kid."

"Some good, some bad."

"The best?"

"Probably camping, with the Moores.  They were nice.  They gave me back, though.  And the lady who taught me about fashion, of course."

"The worst?"

She cleared her throat.  "I had to hide in the closet from one of my foster fathers."

Todd smoothed her hair.  "Who is he?  I'll kill him."

She smiled lightly.  "He used to get drunk.  Most of the time he didn't bother me.  After he tried to touch me, I told on him.  I got taken away, and put into another one."

"What do you mean, 'tried to touch you?'"  His ire was up.

"Let's not do this, Todd, please.  It's years ago.  Long, long ago.  We've had enough of this stuff, haven't we?"

He filed it away for later, and went along with her.  "Yeah, if you say so.  Didn't you ever wonder about your father?  I mean, probably not.  Look at mine."

"No, I never bothered with it.  Especially after I heard the story of who he was, and what he did, to Momma."  She teared up.  "I guess I didn't want to know."

"You'd never really talk about it much, probably because my problems always monopolize everything."

"Oh, Todd, it's all right.  My stuff is my stuff, and it's over.  Yours was . . . brutal, Todd.  Just brutal.  My life turned out okay, later on.  I mean, I had Momma, and Dorian.  Dorian was a good pseudo-Mom.  She's over protective, but . . ."

"That's the word for it."

"She does love me."

"I know."

"She made things . . . better.  It was hard.  Momma wasn't well, and I would have been totally alone."

"I know."

"Let's just say we were both misfit kids, just differently.  That's why we're together as misfit grown-ups."

"I love you, my misfit wife."

"I love you, too, my misfit man."  She leaned in and kissed his mouth.

***

"It wasn't as hard as I thought," Ribsky said.  "I think I know where he is.  In Ohio, someone I knew on the force said he thought he moved there.  He did."

"Well, that's good enough, then," Timothy said.  "We can head there tomorrow."

"Sure, why not?"  Ribsky responded.

Timothy said, "Do ya think y'ar son deserves a call, eh?"

Ribsky didn't answer, instead he said, "Listen, my family's out of this.  If you're going to be my partner, you just . . ." he slowed.  "You just have to let me be, with this."

Timothy reached back into his memory and recalled how he had felt, after the death of Erin and Eric; how he had wanted to bury himself beside them and leave the world.  He said, "Okay, Mate, I get it.  Work first, eh?"

"Mission first," he corrected.  "That son of yours, I'm sure he could use closure, just as we could."

"I know that for a fact, he's been through unbelievable pains and troubles.  He deserves peace, as does his wife and his children.  When I think of what that man did to his son, adopted or not, it just . . . makes me blood boil."

Ribsky sat down, and opened a beer.  "Monster.  Can't believe things like this happen, but they do."  He paused, looking around.  "These digs are miles nicer than mine were," he said, to distract both their minds.

"My son's generous.  To a fault.  This is his idea, not mine."

"Hmf, he has taste."

"Always."

"He has a record.  You know I've looked him up."

"I imagined that ya did."

"I'd have expected what I saw, considering what he'd had done to him, and not remembered.  Undealt-with rage leads to more rage."

"He's paid."

Ribsky nodded.  "But have they?  Peter Manning's dead, but what about the others in this?  I'm starting to ask myself it they will."

"Only one way to know."

"There's other ways," Ribsky said.

Timothy sat forward, and put his forearms onto his knees.  "Ya sound like Todd.  Ya can't mean it.  A former police officer as y'arself."

"Why," he started, chugging the beer, "you never knew that police can break the law too?  These guys did, whoever they are, Ben, Molly's boss.  What makes me any different?"

Timothy didn't know what to say, but what he did know was that inside Jack Ribsky was a grief so profound that it was welling up as if ready to come out of every pore in his body.  "I think ya need to ask y'arself that."

"Why don't you drink with me," he said, starting to slightly slur his words.

"Because I don't drink anymore.  I promised my son and his family that.  I'm in recovery.  An alcoholic."

"Sober?  How long?"

"A while now, a few years."

"That's good.   I guess I shouldn't be drinking in your company, then."

"I can handle it."

He finished the beer, and tossed the can into the trash.  Then he said, "Can you handle me?  If I decide to teach Ben Miller a lesson, once and for all?"

Timothy swallowed.  "Depends on what ya mean."

"Some partner.  He ends up being part of the reason I lost everything."

"Ya lost y'ar wife.  And I know, that could mean everything."
     
"I . . . we had at least six months.  I planned to do everything for her that she wanted to do before . . . well, before she...died."

"I see," Timothy said, sitting back again.

"We didn't have much time, we knew it.  But I promised to take care of her, and she made a list.  We planned to do as much of it as we could.  Now . . ."

"There's no time," Timothy said, "none left.  Ya were taken by surprise, I know.  I can relate to ya.  My wife was shot to death in front of me, and my son, who I thought also died.  It's so hard when the time is cut short on us."

"I'd forgotten . . . or did I even know about your wife?"

"Ah, no matter.  It happened.  I can tell ya that."

Ribsky swallowed.  "You lost your wife, too.  She was young, huh?"

"Yes.  We had a great deal of plans, too, so I know how ya feel."

"I don't think you do," he said.  

Timothy noticed the man's voice was close to a low growl.  He said, "Y'ar angry.  Full of hate."

"Yep."

"Not a good place to be, My Friend."

"No other place," he said.

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