Failings of the Fathers: 78

"Come on, buckle in," Todd said, putting a safety belt on his son.

"Daddy, buckle the belt?  We're fwying."

"Yeah, we're flying.  We're going to take off in the air.  See the wing?"

The little boy looked out the window, his light brown curls tied back, the way Todd used to tie his, in a low-hanging ponytail.  He realized his own hair was getting longer, and he wasn't sure which way to go with it.  Ray said, "Wing!  Is that a wing, Daddy?"

"Yeah.  That's it."

"Mommy said we see clouds."

"Yep."

"Can I jump on clouds, Daddy?"

"No, Buddy.  Only in here," he said, pointing to the little boy's head.  He rumpled his hair.

Sitting in his own seat, near Blair, he put an arm around her.  "We're on our way out of this Godforsaken place."

"Yes.  Are you all right, Todd?"

"Me?  I've got my One True Babe with me, and my son is alive and okay.  My kids are home, waiting.  What could be not all right?"

Timothy was sitting by Ray, and said, "Now, see when we take off, the ground will look far away."

"Far away?"

"Yes, Lad.  The ground will look far away, and the sky will look close."

"But the sky is up there!"  The little boy said.

"Yes.  And we will be up there, too."

"Like birdies?"

"Like birdies," he agreed, palming the little one's head.  His heart felt a pang of loss, and at the same time, fortune.

John was in another seat, apart from the others.  Bitsy was immobile, in a seat next to him.  For a private jet, there was a great deal of room.  He was on his phone, finishing calls before lift off.  He wanted Natalie to know he was making his way home.

In the corner of his eye, he spied Todd and Blair, looking at each other in a way he knew was uncommon and resonant.  She was smiling, and he moved in to kiss her.  

That's a sight for very sore eyes.  

"I'll be home soon.  He's fine, everyone's fine.  Love you, and Liam," he said, with a pressing urge to kiss and hug his son.

It had been a long day.

***

"I know it's getting late, but I think we need to make an exception, eh?"  the nun asked, as the boys were heading upstairs for bedtime.  "Someone's on their way home and expecting to see ya!"

"Mom and Dad!"  Sam called out.

"Yes, Little Muffin, y'ar parents.  They're on their way."

"Did they say . . . is . . ."  Jack wasn't sure how to ask.

"Little Ray and Grandpa Timothy are coming, too!"  she announced.

"Yay!"  Sam ran around her.  "Yay, yay, yay!"

"Oh, Sam, slow down, y'ar making me seasick, ay?"

"Sorry!" he said, plopping on the couch.

Dorian came into the room, just as the nun was finishing her announcement.  "Did you say they are on their way back?"

"Yes.  It's a bright day in the fields, I'd say."

"I suppose, yes."

"Timothy, Ray, Todd and Blair, on their way back."

"Timothy?"

"Yes.  He's been back here and gone once already, but on his way home as well."

"Ah, I see."

"So, what would ya like to do, children, to welcome them?"  the nun asked.

"Make a poster?"  Sam said.

"That sounds fine, Sam.  Run and get some paper from the art supplies and some things to draw and color with."

"What about Grandma Bitsy?"  Sam suddenly asked.

"She's on her way, as well.  She's going back to Mountainview for a while."

"Okay," he said, running off.

Jack said, "So, Sister, what really happened?"

She sighed, and waited until Sam was out of earshot.  "Y'ar father was shot.  He's all right, just a shoulder wound.  Y'ar Mam was punched in the face, but she's also all right.  The Wee One is fine, not a hair touched on his head."

"And?  I know there's more.  I'm not a kid, really."

She knew he was right.  In front of her eyes, he had gone from an angry, screwed-up teen to a young man, approaching adulthood, in the few years she had known him.  "Bitsy is catatonic again, she shot Peter Manning through the forehead.  Y'ar father offered himself to get Peter to let the baby and Blair go.  Were ya expecting anything less?"

"No.  Not from Dad."

"Ah, ya understand him."

"I have for a while, I just . . . didn't always know it or show it."

"Yes, well, y'ar growing up."

"Maybe," he said, sitting down and crossing his ankles on the coffee table.  "I'm glad he's dead.  No matter what, he ruined Dad's life.  Or tried to."

"Jack Manning, I've told you not to do that with your feet,"  Dorian reminded.

He brought his legs down.  "How long before they get here?"

"An hour or two.  Not long," the nun said, as Sam returned with the goods.  He was ready to create his welcome home poster, and the nun took him into the kitchen.  Jack was staring at Dorian.

She said, "Is there something I can do for you?"

"No.  Just wondering how you're going to get in good with Timothy when he finds out what you think of my father, again."

"Now, Jack, anger talks."

"Yeah, it does.  And here's mine.  If you want to keep Timothy around, you had better not let him get wind of the kinds of things you said about my Dad a few days back.  He thinks of my father as a son, and he won't like it."

Jack folded his arms.  Dorian unfolded hers and sat at the other end of the sofa.  

What he had said was blatant truth.

***

An hour or so later, Sam put the finishing touches on his poster, just as the doorbell rang.  He ran, like a little hellion, to the La Boulaei foyer, and opened it without asking who was there.  He jumped toward Todd, then stopped, seeing his arm.  "Dad!  Mom!  Yay!  But Dad, what happened?"

"It's a long story, come on, hug me first," Todd said to the boy.  He obliged, and there were more hugs, all around. 

Jack said, "God, glad you guys are all right," and took Ray, putting him up into the air, and the boy giggled.  

Ray said, "We fwew.  In the sky."

"I know.  It was really cool, wasn't it?"  Jack asked.

"Yeah, really cool."  Ray said.  "Ganpa sat next to me."

Blair hugged her sons over and over.  Finally, Jack said, "Mom, you hugged us five times already."

"I just missed you guys," she said.

"We missed you, Mom!"  Sam said, "Look!"  He held up his poster.  "Sister Becca Thrin helped me."

Blair admired it, as did Todd.  Timothy was still behind them, as the greetings were exchanged. 

Dorian appeared at the foot of the staircase and locked eyes with him.  There was an exchange between them of looks, with expressions somewhere between intense recognition and profound longing.  As the family moved toward the living room, he stood, waiting, and she said, "Mr. Broderick."

He said, "Dorie," and moved toward her, at which time she flung herself into his arms, and he kissed her like there was not going to be another chance.  He said, "My goodness, I missed ya."

She pulled back from his face a bit, and said, "I missed you, as well.  Very much."  Then, she ran her fingers through his silvery hair, and said, "I'm so sorry about Aiden, Timothy."

Though he attempted stoicism, he broke down into her arms, and buried his face in her shoulder and neck.  She held him, and they remained, together, in the foyer.

Sam said, "I'm happy you're home.  I don't want to go to sleep without you."  He looked at both his parents, and they could tell that he was still feeling the trauma of what had happened.  

Todd said, "You won't have to worry about that.  When we get back, we're all having a slumber party family night in our room."

"Yay, I love those!"  Sam added.

"Hey, what about me?"  A voice said from the doorway.  Everyone turned to see Starr, standing in the arches of the living room doors.  

Blair went to her bruised and battered daughter immediately, and hugged her gently.  Todd stood, from where he was, and just looked at her, purpled and looking uncomfortable.  She hugged her mother, and the others, and stared back at her father.   He said, "Shorty," softly, and  they went toward each other.

She said, "Dad," and went into his arms.  She put her head against his chest.  He said, "Everything is all right now.  He's dead."

"And of course, you're included in the family night sleep over," Blair said, going to her husband and daughter.

Starr was still lost in her reconnection with her father.  "Was it bad?"  She searched Todd's face with fear in her eyes.

"It was what it usually is.  It's done.  Bad enough, and through."

"You were hurt."

"Yeah, I was.  But I'm okay."

"Dad, your brother, your father, all you went through."

"It's over, Starr.  I'm . . . sorry he hurt you."

She cried softly onto his chest.  "I'm sorry that you didn't have a father like mine."

Blair saw his eyes well up, and he ran his good hand along her hair.  He didn't answer; he couldn't find words.

The kids packed up and got themselves ready to go home with their parents.  Todd said, "We're going to have a great family night together, all of us.  You too, Shorty, and Peanut."

She said, "Let me go get her ready then."

Blair was cradling the baby in her arms.  "Todd, I missed her so much."

"I know.  Me, too.  My little sack of sugar."

"Was she good, Momma?"

"She was beautiful," Addie said.  "like my beautiful girl."

Williams was there and parked outside, just as Starr came down the stairs with Hope and an overnight bag.  The Mannings congregated in the foyer, and Timothy said, "Y'ar beautiful family, Todd.  Y'ar a fortunate man, My Boy."

"I couldn't agree more," he said, and handed his baby daughter back to her mother.

They loaded into the limousine.  As they took off and left La Boulaei behind, Todd said, "We're going home."

The kids reacted as he feared; they seemed apprehensive to see the house again. 

"Unforgettable is our place.  It belongs to us.  No one can ruin that for us.  Not a smarmy old bear, and not a crazy, bad man."

"Dad's right," Starr said.  "Unforgettable was a gift for Mom.  No one should be able to ruin that."

"I'm kinda scared," Sam said.

"I understand, but you shouldn't be scared.  No one is going to hurt you anymore."  Blair said.

"He was a bad man, right Dad?"

"Yeah, he was a bad man, Sam."

"He's not coming back," Sam said, more like a question than anything.

"No, he's not."  Todd said.  "No one's going to hurt our family, ever again."

Sam scooted closer to Todd, "I'm glad.  He was a really bad man, Dad.  He was really mean.  Was he mean like that when you were a little boy, Dad, like me?"

Blair wistfully looked out the window, and Todd said, "Yeah.  He was.  But I don't want you to worry about that.  You asked me before, and I don't want you to think of it anymore."  He held the boy's chin gently in his hand.

"Okay, Dad," Sam said, and leaned his head against his father's chest.

"Daddy, the bad man is gone."  Ray said.  "Tell Sam."

"I did, Ray.  I told him."


Blair, pushing the tears back, said, "This is where we belong, Todd."

"Yeah.  This is."  He pulled Sam, who was now drifting off into sleep, closer to him.  Hope was sleeping as well, and Jewel was yawning and peering around the cab of the car.  

Todd said, "And you," pointing to Jack, "you and I will be having a conversation about closing doors in the house with girls visiting."

His son got red in the face and said, "Okay, but do we have to talk about it now?"

"No.  Just sayin.'"

"Dad, I'm glad you tell me off.  I need it sometimes," Jack said.

"Everyone does, once in a while."  Todd answered.

I'm not just your son, I'm me.  

Just me.

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Failings of the Fathers: 77

"Doctor, as long as my son is all right, I'm perfect," Blair said, looking to the man in the teal scrubs.

"He's all right.  Nothing to worry about physically.  I am sure you'll help assure that emotionally, he has support."

"Of course."

"Nothing more than a cracked lip and some swelling here on the cheek.  Any headache?"

"No."

"Then I'd say you're fine.  Just keep an eye on head pain and any vomiting in the next few hours."

"I will," she said, standing.  She then thought about it, and said, "My husband, is he . . ."

"He's fine.  No damage caused by the bullet, except the typical.  Some scarring."

"Scarring," she said, "Hmf.  He's okay with that."

"Clearly.  I don't want to ask how he's gotten the ones I saw.  But, Mrs. Manning, I'm hoping your family can move forward.  Let's hope this will be the last scar."

"Yes, let's," she said.

***

"This one wants his mother, and now!"  Timothy said, as Ray squirmed in his arms.

"She's in there," Todd said, pointing. 

 In a flash, Timothy was gone, and then back, plopping next to Todd on the plastic waiting-room chairs.  "Son, are ya all right?"

"I'm fine.  Ray's fine, Blair's fine, Momma's alive, Peter's dead.  I'm fine."

"Are ya really fine?"  Timothy kept at it.

He paused, "Yeah.  I'm okay, Old Man."

"I . . . have something to tell ya . . ."

Todd sucked in breath.  "I know.  I figured you did.  You wouldn't have left him."

"No.  Not this time.  I wanted to be there if there was an ending.  And," he paused, as Todd looked at him out of the side of his eyes, "there was."  His voice wavered on the last two words.

Todd looked straight ahead, and his father did as well.  Both of them stared into the passageway in front of them, as a few people passed by.  Finally, Todd said, "Was he at peace?"

Timothy sniffed.  "Yes.  From what we can tell."

Todd nodded.  "Okay."

"I rushed home right away.  Wanted to be there for ya.  Y'ar very important to me, Todd.  Y'ar family and ya are my world.  Ya know that."  Todd didn't answer, but Timothy saw his Adam's apple move in his throat.  "Do ya?  Do ya know that?"

He nodded slowly.  "Yeah.  I know that."

"I figure this.  Ya know how to be a father, and really be a father to those boys.  Which means ya deserve it back.  Even now.  I hope ya never doubted that for a minute."

Todd lied.  "Nope."

"Y'ar as much my son to me as Eric was.  And I'm telling ya that from the base of my old Irish heart."

Todd finally looked back to the man, who was now looking at him.  "I am, huh?"

"Ya are.  Ask anyone.  Ask that cantankerous nun we both know.  She's got a handle on it."

"Hmf.  I almost forgot about her.  She knew this was coming."

"She didn't.  Not exactly, but did she know something?  Yes.  She did.  She had several knowings."

Todd didn't say anything for a few minutes.  Both he and Timothy sat back and somehow relaxed against the hard seats.  Then he said, "Momma."

"Is she all right?"

"I hope.  Right now, no.  But maybe she will be."  He looked right into Timothy's eyes.  "She talked."

"Did she now?"

"Yeah.  She did.  She talked after she shot Peter through the middle of his forehead.  Everyone cheered and jumped for joy."

"Ya know that's not true."

"No, but it felt like it, in here," he pointed to his chest.  "I felt like . . . the world changed just then. Like, somehow, things were changing in front of my eyes."

"It was ending.  Ya were reacting to the end of forty plus years of pain.  It's a freedom that can't be measured, eh?"

"Hmf," he nodded in agreement.  Then, "I had a brother, for a few months.  Now, I don't."

"No, ya don't."

"I'm sorry about your son, Dad."  Todd said.

Timothy's face broke, and he fought to put it back together.  "Thank ya," he croaked out, his voice raspy with intensity, "I'm just glad I don't have to say those words to ya.  There's nothing this painful.  Nothing like it in the world."

Todd reached out and hugged his father, albeit awkward at first.  He didn't often initiate embraces, except maybe with Blair or his kids.  But he did it anyway, knowing it was needed.  The older man patted Todd's back, firmly, and pulled back.  He said, "Son, let it be over and put it to rest.  The failings of that man are not your problem anymore."

They were greeted in the next moment by Ray, running toward them, and jumping up onto Timothy's lap.  "Ganpa, piggy wide?"

"Ya want a piggy-back, do ya?  Hmm, how do we ask?"

"Pwease?"

"Why I think it can be arranged, don't ya, Daddy?"

Todd said, "Yeah, I think it can.  If it's okay with Grandpa."

"Yay!  Piggy wide!"  Ray called out, as Timothy lifted him onto his shoulders and went around the sitting area and into the hallway.  Todd could hear his son's laugh floating back.

Blair sat next to her husband.  "I'm good, which means, we can go home to our kids, now.  I miss Jewel so much it hurts.  Physically."

He put his elbows on his knees and perched there, still watching Timothy and Ray.  "Glad you're okay.  Aiden's dead, Blair."

"Oh, Todd," she said, softly, "I sort of thought so, when I saw Timothy show up.  I'm . . . very sorry, My Love."  She rested her chin on his shoulder.

"Thanks," he said.  "I never really got to find out what it was like to have a brother.  I mean, really have a brother.  It was short."

"It was.  And I'm sorry for your loss.  It's very sad."

He nodded, and she reached up and petted his hair, running her hand down along his face and scar.  She thought about it, and said, "It's fading.  Or it has, so much over time, Todd."

"Yep."

"It's been a lot of years since I first saw that scar on that face of yours, Mr. Manning.  That long, beautiful hair you had."

"That long beautiful hair you have," he emphasized, touching hers gently.

"God, I love you, Todd."

"I love you, too."

"We're lucky today."

He nodded.  "One more thing to do," he said.  "Will you help me?"

"If I can, yeah, of course."

"I want to see Peter."

Her face drooped with the unexpected comment.  "I . . .  why?"

He gulped, "I've got to, Blair.  I have to see him, dead."

"He was."

"I have to," he persisted, and she could see it was what he needed.  

"All right, we'll do that, then."

"Okay.  I want to ask McKnight-in-Black to set it up for me."

"Well, here's your chance, he's coming right now," she nodded toward the policeman as he made his entrance.

***

For the last few hours, including when he was lying on the cellar floor, with the cold cement against his back, he'd thought about getting this chance.  Now, standing outside the morgue, with Blair on his good arm, he thought it over again.  He had so many things to say to Peter Manning, and he was perfectly willing to do it then.

So what he's not alive to hear me?  He's out there somewhere.  His nasty spirit is floating around, probably ready to haunt me.  

He wanted the chance to say it all, even if the asshole was dead.  He'd run it over in his head so many times.  

Put in his face what he did to Momma.  What he did to . . . me, as a child.  As a teenager.  As a man . . .

John interrupted his thoughts by coming back through the doors.  "It's arranged, Todd.  Are you sure?"

"Positive," he said, and ire was beginning to smoulder in his eyes.

Blair said, "Thank you, John."

"Blair, it's not a pretty sight."

"My husband needs me, I'm there," she said.  Todd covered her hand with his on his bicep.

When John walked off, Todd looked into Blair's deep, green eyes.  "You don't have to."

"I know.  I want to.  I want to  . . . share everything with you.  Even if it's hard."

"Okay," he said, as the tech came forward and brought them into the room.  A body was on the table, under a sheet.  The sheet was blue, not white as it was in so many television movies.  They stood, together, and waited.  

The tech said, "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Todd said, and Blair averted her eyes for the moment of reveal.  The tech removed the sheet, and there was Peter Manning.  Aside from the hole in his forehead, he just seemed empty, still and surprisingly harmless.  

The tech said, "I'll be right out there," and pointed to a room with a window for viewing.

Both of them stood, silent, looking at the shell of Peter, lying on the gurney.  The light above them was almost piercing in its brightness.  Both stared at him, and then Blair directed her attention to Todd.  His reaction was not what she expected.  He didn't rant.  He didn't swear, curse the man to Hell. 

He just stood and stared.

She waited.

Finally, he said, "You miserable bastard."

She tightened her grip on his arm.

"Those rapes at the hospital?  You remember all that, Dad?  Well, they finally got the guy.  And guess what?  It wasn't me.  For the first time in my life, I'm innocent.  How about that, huh?  Matter of fact, I was the one who finally figured out who it was.  And now, it's over.  Now I know this must come as big news to you, that your son isn't as rotten as you thought.  But let me tell you something Dad, this isn't the first time you've been wrong about me."

He swallowed.  It seemed like yesterday; a door in his mind that opened, and he could almost walk into it and experience again.

"You've been wrong about me, plenty.  And I know, that I have screwed up, plenty.  And I figured something else out, too.  I've been screwed plenty, too.  By you.  Nothing was ever good enough for you, Dad."

I didn't remember.  None of it.  Not then.

"If I wanted to be your son, I had to be the biggest, the toughest, the strongest.  The Superstar.  The Bigshot.  That's a loser's game, Dad.  And I'm not playing anymore.  And I didn't come here to ask you if it's okay . . . I don't even care what you think."

But I did.  I wanted him to accept me.  Why?  He . . . did things . . .

"You're not hurting me anymore, and I just wanted to let you know that."

"Todd?"  Blair said, softly.  

"And from here on in, I'm not just your son, I'm me.  Just me."

"My Love?"  she whispered, "Let's go, Todd.  He can't hurt us, anymore," and she began to gently move him away from the body.  He relented, then started to follow.

"I'm me.  Just me."  

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Failings of the Fathers: 76

"Thanks, Ole Buddy, for coming to get me.  Glad I got to see Starr before I headed home," Shaun said.  He sounded groggy but seemed no worse for the wear.

"It's what I do, Bud.  Wish I could have done more," Perzno said.

"Starr was quiet, on purpose, so the kids wouldn't be as scared.  No one had time, really." 

"I still can't forget that," Perzno said.  "Can't forget what I saw when I came off the roof."

"I can't forget her face.  I helped raise that girl, when her father was away.  Love those kids like they were my own."

"It's not your fault, so don't start that.  You were drugged.  They found you near the door.  You were trying to get to the kids."

"A needle in my foot, I can remember that much.  I knew, after I realized what the pinch was, that the kids were in trouble.  I just couldn't make it to them."  Shaun seemed forlorn.  He was in a wheelchair and would be for a while.  

"What about the kid?  The littlest one?"  Perzno asked.

"He's still missing.  His parents went to go and get him.  If I know Todd, he'll make it happen, whatever it takes."

"Was this about money?  Manning's got more than Gates."

"More than Gates?  Isn't the expression, 'More than God?'"

"I don't use that one.  God doesn't have money, and I don't think He'd like it."  For a minute, the copterman went silent.  Then Perzno said, "God was with those kids that day.  The baby wasn't even touched."

"Thank Todd's mother for that.  She made that basket.  The baby probably was sleeping and went unnoticed."

"That's The Man Upstairs' doing,"  Perzno said.  "I've learned a lot in my life, and one of those things is that you can't underestimate the power of people, love or God."

"Amen.  Sounds right to me."

"You feeling okay?"

"I feel fine.  A little tired, out of it, maybe.  When I get home, I plan to get that house as close to normal as I can for them, if you'll help me."  Shaun said this as Perzno shot him a glance of disbelief.  "The Mannings will be back, and with their son, you can bet on that."

***

A while later, Blair was in the waiting room, with an ice pack on her lip and cheek.  She'd insisted on Todd being taken care of, but refused any attention herself until she knew he was fine.

She looked up to see John, and the stranger, aside Bitsy on a gurney.  She got up and ran to her mother-in-law, and looked into her face.  She recognized the look immediately.  "She's gone.  Inside herself, to her safe place.  She . . . saved her son."

John knew what Blair meant, right then, and nodded stoically. She said, "Momma, it's okay.  You rest, and then when you're ready, you come back to us."

The moveable bed was rolled away, and she looked after it.  Ribsky went off to make a call, and Blair said, "What do you want to know, John?  She shot him.  She shot him through the head, and saved me, Todd and our son by doing it."

"I wasn't doubting that, Blair."

"Why not?" she looked at him, and pain was in her eyes.  "Is it because you saw the room, and figured out what he'd done to them all those years?"

"I didn't need to see it, but, yeah, that's part of it."

"I am glad she shot him.  He . . . made Todd put his gun down, on the ground, while he held one to my baby boy's little chest."  For a moment, she'd forgotten where Ray was, until she remembered she'd made Timothy take him to the cafeteria and get him a snack.  "He would have killed us all. or worse."

"Likely.  The local authorities have taken over.  Ribsky and I came here with her.  Thought it would be better."

"Can you imagine that John?  Someone holding a gun against Liam's little heart?"  she said.

"No, Blair, I really can't.  I wouldn't even want to."

"Who is that guy?" Blair asked, nodding toward Ribsky.  "He's been hovering."

"He's an ex-cop, married to Connie Bensonhurst's sister.  Just showed up out of concern."

She gulped.  "The man Todd met.  Connie, she's dead, John.  She was dead when we got there."

John just looked at Blair, expressionless.  "Upstairs?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how?"

"She looked . . .:" she closed her eyes for a moment, "beaten to death."

"He turned on her.  Possibly, she was trying to protect your son.  That's what I'd guess."

Blair sighed out, and it was ragged with emotion.  "He was checked out.  The doctors said nothing was wrong with him.  He wasn't . . . physically hurt," her voice cracked.

"Well, that's something, huh?  The little guy is going to be like new, soon."

"He's seen so much," John could see her facade of strength crumbling.  "He might never be the same.  He was there when Todd and Peter were shot.  And who knows what Peter . . ." she sobbed.  "He can't even tell us what Peter did.  He's too little."

John instinctively wrapped his arms around Blair and held her.  She cried into her hands against his shoulder.  

They were interrupted by a voice.  "Hey, unhand my woman, McBatman." Todd said.  When they both looked at him, he was standing, with his arm in a sling, and a broad smile across his face. 

John let go, and Blair went to him, his free arm pulling her close, and he winced, slightly.  He smirked at John, and then, teasingly said, "Don't be making time with my wife, McBain.  Not a cop-ly thing to do."

"Got it," John said, and turned to find Ribsky.

Blair said, "You're all right," into his eyes.

"Yep.  Amazing what some blood and a few stitches and band aids can do."

"Stop, it's worse than that."

"No, not really.  How's my boy?"

"He's fine.  The doctors said he's okay."

"Peter didn't touch him?"

"No.  No physical injuries."

Todd knew what it meant.  His son had no visible, physical wounds.  But what kind of emotional damage had been done to his little boy?  He swallowed, and said, "Well, he'll see his namesake."

"He's the namesake, and I agree."

"Okay," he said with finality, and she let him hold her with his good arm, and she closed her eyes.  When she pulled back, she winced again as her face touched against his sling.  He said, "Hey, you need attention for that.  I wanted to pull his head off his body when he hit you.  The only thing holding me back was Little Ray.  We just had to find him."

"I know.  You did everything right, Todd.  I was so proud to be your wife today.  Again."

"Why, you're not proud other days?  Okay, I see how it is."

She smiled, "I'm proud every day.  I was more proud today."

"Do I remember that Ribsky guy?  Was he there, or was I seeing things?"

"He was there.  He's here, too, over there, I think.  Making calls."

"Does he know?"

"I guess.  John might have gone to tell him more.  I don't know."

"Maybe," Todd said.  "Where's my father and my kid?"

"In the cafeteria.  A Manning tradition: eating."

"I want to see him, Blair.  I want to hold him, and let him know I'm okay.  He's my boy."

"I know.  I know you do.  They'll be back in a few minutes.  You could always call Timothy on your cell?"

"Let's get you checked out first, by a doctor?  Then we can all go home, if things are all right."

"Okay," she finally agreed.

"Okay," he said, relieved she was safe and warm, against him.

***

Bitsy was with a doctor who had completed her evaluation, and had repaired her forehead with a butterfly bandage.  He said, "She'll need to be watched.  Just to ascertain if there is a concussion here.  I can't ask her any questions, as you can see, she's catatonic."

The nurse said, "All right, Doctor, I can let the policemen know."

John stepped into the cubicle.  "That won't be necessary, I heard everything."  He flashed his badge.  "I'll be taking custody of Mrs. Manning."

Bitsy did not respond.  She stared straight ahead.  John said, "Bitsy, I know it's hard right now, but things will be all right.  Todd is fine, and Blair and Ray are, too.  You're going back to Mountainview for a while."

She didn't move or acknowledge him.  She was lost in her own world.

He saw the curtain open, and Todd and Blair stepped in.  Todd said, "Momma?  You okay?"

She didn't respond.  He looked at Blair.  "She's gone."

"I know, My Love.  I think she thought you had died."

"I'm not dead, Momma, okay?"  He said, touching her arm.  "I'm all right, thanks to you."

She didn't look at him, and he walked out of the area, pushing the curtains aside as he went.  

Blair said, "Momma, we love you," and followed him.

As he made his way into the sitting area, he stopped a doctor.  "Hey, check out my wife, will you?  She was hit with a large backhand.  I don't like the way her lip looks.  Can you check her out?"

"Just have her go into the third cubicle and wait, someone will be right with her."

He put his hand out, "There you go.  Get going.  I want us home by a decent hour so we can regroup with the kids.  Sam's gotta be a total mess right now."

She obeyed him after a light kiss on the unmarred side of her lips.  

***

Ribsky put a hand on his hip, and shook his head.  "She was his girlfriend, wasn't she?  At least, signs are pointing that way.  She told us he was dead.  Maybe she didn't know.  Maybe she didn't realize that he was still living."

"Maybe," John said, but he was doubtful.  Cell phone records would answer everything.  He'd pass the info to the local police in the morning.  "it's possible she knew nothing."

"Who I am kidding?  She had to know.  Her reaction to Manning when he came to us . . . when I think of it now, I'm sure she knew.  She was cold.  She . . . denied everything.  The man was a sick . . . a monster."

"I'm sorry," John said.

"It's going to hurt Pamela."

"Her sister?'

"Yeah, my wife.  It's going to ruin her.  She's a social worker.  She sees abused kids every day.  It won't be easy for her."

"I don't know what to say."

"There's nothing to say.  Manning was not lying to us.  He was brutalized by that man.  I saw it all over him when he visited.  It's sick."

"That's the right word for it."

"That room.  I've been a cop a while.  I don't think I ever saw something like that.  Ever."

"I haven't either, but there's always a first time," John said.  "Comes with our territory."

"Well, it had better be my last.  The guy, Todd?  He must have had some life."

"That's an understatement.  Let's go get off our feet for a few minutes.  Then, we can finish questioning Blair."  John said.

When they rounded the corner, Todd was sitting in the waiting area, his arm in the sling, his head tilted back.  His eyes were closed, and as they approached, careful not to wake him, he spoke.  "I'm not sleeping.  Just have a mother of a headache."

He opened his eyes and John and Ribsky were standing, looking down at him.  John said, "Manning.  Glad your son is all right."

"Me too.  What's up?  Hey, Ribsky, I'm . . . sorry about Connie."

"I'm sorry, too.  She . . . seemed to be helping out your father."

"I don't call him that anymore.  He never was a father to me.  He's not my father now.  My father's in the cafeteria with my little boy, feeding him pancakes, likely."

"You've changed, Todd.  Since I met you.  A great deal."  John said.

"I guess.  Don't we all change, every day?"  Todd answered.  "That's what my therapist says."

John nodded, and sauntered off in response to a phone call on his cell.  Ribsky sat beside Todd.  "So, you were serious, and you weren't lying."

"Yep, and nope."

"I'm sorry for any pain that my sister-in-law helped cause."

"Don't apologize.  You're not her.  She was her own person.  Made her own decisions."

"Is your son . . . okay?"

Todd looked at the man, and studied his face a moment.  In his eyes, Todd thought he saw fear for what could have been done to his boy.  He saw that house.  He knows.  He knows the truth.  "He's great, it seems.  He's got no physical injuries, and we have a therapist who can help him with the trauma.  It won't go unattended.  He'll have the help he needs.  Maybe if I . . . well, anyway, he's going to be okay."

"You were going to say, 'maybe if I were given help when I was his age,' right?"

"Maybe."  Todd folded his arms.  He turned away and stared straight ahead.

Ribsky thought that was a sign that Todd was closing down, but he continued anyway.  "You'd be right, if you were thinking that.  Dead on.  If the system didn't fail you, years back.  If your situation was under control by a person strong enough to handle it.  If you did this, if your mother did that.  Truth is, Todd, it's all ifs.  There's something today that's not an 'if,' and that is that your family is safe, putting things back together.  You're done with the likes of Peter Manning.  Your mother, well, I don't know much there, but she has finally got to have some peace.  Your wife has you and her son back.  It's over."

Todd shot a quick glance at the man.  Todd didn't respond, but he made eye contact again.

"Over.  I don't know everything that has gone on in your life, but just being in that cellar for fifteen minutes told me everything I needed to know.  It's over, and there's no looking back for you. I can still remember the day you came to my home, and looked for answers.  I'd dare say, you've made it and gotten them.  Your boys are safe, your journey with this over.  Make sure it stays that way."

Todd's eyes were brimming, and he fought not to give in to the emotion.

The man went on.  "Like I said that day, you have to move on.  That's what being a father is about.  And you know that, because you're a good one.  From what I can see, you're a very good father who did everything he had to for that little boy.  It's behind you, and see that it stays there," he said, getting up and walking off.  

Todd watched as the man went out the doors of the emergency room, signaled by a whoosh of electronics and then a sliding close of the exit.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
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Failings of the Fathers: 75

"Momma?"  Todd said.  "Momma, you spoke?"

She seemed distant, staring down at Peter.  She slowly raised her face, and looked at her son.  "Are you okay?" she asked.

He swallowed, and tears stung his eyes.  "Yeah, I'm . . . I'm fine, Momma."

"Let me take the baby," she said, and leaned down to take Ray.  He had been falling asleep against Todd, and as she picked him up, he rested his head on her shoulder and went into dreamland.

Blair said, "You're bleeding, bad, Todd."

"I'm okay," he said.  She wasn't happy with his pallor and sweat-shined face.  He had been propped up a little to hold his son, but now fell back to the floor.  She caught his head and rested it on her knee. "I like you taking care of me," he said.

"I like doing it," she answered.  "But I'm worried about the blood loss, and you . . . you look pale, Todd."

"I'm going to be okay," he said.

"Just keep looking at me, okay?  Don't go anywhere," she said, one hand depressing a piece of her blouse onto his wound, and the other reaching for her cell.  He winced under the pressure of her fingers against his shoulder.

"Where am I going?" he asked, dreamily.  His eyes fluttered, and his gaze went to the ceiling.

"Nowhere, Todd, now, stay with me," she pleaded.

His eyes closed.

***

"Ah, Jack," the nun said, as Jack appeared outside his brother's door.  "Ya just caught us saying some prayers."

"Hi Sister.  Hey, Runty, ya gotta go and get your homework done,  Grandma Addie said."

"I don't like homework anymore," Sam said.

"Why?"

"Dad's not here to help me.  He always does."  Sam said, as he unenthusiastically headed out the door.

Jack watched him go and then turned back to the nun.  "He's all messed up."

"Yes, I'd say he is.  For now."

"It's . . . a shitty thing for a guy to do to his brother."

"First, what did I tell ya about y'ar language, young man?  And second, what did ya do?"

He fidgeted.  "I caused all this."

"Ya didn't.  I know that."

"I did.  If I were home, if I was there . . ."

"Then what?  Ya would have miraculously faced off with a bloody gun?  No, Lad, ya just may have made things worse, and cost y'arself y'ar life."

"Maybe, but he has Ray."

"He does.  But not for long.  Ya know y'ar parents are not going to leave Chicago without their babby."

He walked in and sat next to her.  "What if something happens?  What if Jewel has to grow up without Dad, the way I did?"

"Laddy, the only thing ya can do is pray.  And wait.  But ya can't take on the blame."

"I can.  I was supposed to stay with Starr.  I was supposed to help babysit.  She had three kids to watch, how could she fight him off?  If I was there, we might have had a chance."

"I don't think ya will ever know that.  It's best to move on, and try to make sense of it another way."

"What other way?"

"Y'ar mother, how she would have been if ya died.  Ya know how y'ar father's father was.  He would be abusive to ya, as he was to Starr.  He may have killed ya, then what would y'ar parents have done?"

He didn't answer.  He just sat, thinking.  "I don't know."

"It's going to work out, just have faith, Lad."  

*** 

Without warning, the sound of the cellar doors banging against the house startled Blair to look away from her husband's still body for a moment.  She looked up, and to her surprise and also relief was John McBain, shouting, "Freeze, police!" holding a gun in front of himself and cradling it with his second hand.  She could see a man behind him she'd never seen before, and then Timothy, who's expression went from determined to devastated as he lowered his gun.

She said, "He's dying," causing Timothy to come to life.  The older man raced to her side while fumbling with the pistol as he put it into the back waistband of his pants.  He crouched next to her.  "What happened, Bridgette?"

"He got shot, trying to save us."  She collapsed into tears.  John also made his way to them while calling for an ambulance, and the stranger, who seemed concerned as well, did the same.  

The unknown man said, "Excuse me, why don't you come over here with me, and let's take a look at you and the baby?"

"No, I can't leave him.  I won't do that again," she said, remembering her promises to him from the day he set foot back into her life.  

"Must be Blair," Ribsky said to himself.  "And one of his sons."

Timothy looked defeated and suddenly very old.  John was putting pressure on the wound, having taken that position from Blair.  Her hands were covered in Todd's blood, and there was a smear of it on her cheek.  She realized he had put it there when he touched her face before he passed out.  She could tell the stranger was going into "sympathy" mode.

He's not dead.   You're wrong.  You're so very wrong.

Bitsy was crying, her tears were silent.  She stared down at her son and watched as his blood oozed onto the cellar floor.  Peter's body had done the same, but differently.  He was dead, and she was positive of that fact.  There was barely nothing left to the back of his head.

Within a few minutes, Todd slowly revived, responding to the pain in his shoulder provided by John as he depressed the wound.  His cry startled Blair but also relieved her.  She looked into his face and turned it to hers with her hand.  "It's all right.  I'm here.  It's okay.  Ray's fine."

"Momma . . . talked," he said, and John turned toward the woman for a moment.  

"Yes, she did," Blair said.  At this point, Bitsy was nothing more than a shell.  She stood, silently, and watched her son struggle for life.  She seemed in a dream, except for the fact that she held sleeping Ray on her shoulder.

"I . . . I'm tired, Blair."  Todd said.

"No, no, you're not.  You're not tired, you're here with me, with Ray.  You're staying with us."

"I feel . . . tired.  I can't . . . stay awake."

"No, Todd!  Stay with us, please?"

He faded.  She crumpled against John's shoulder.  He continued to work on Todd until the paramedics came through the cellar doors, pushing a spray of early evening light into the room again.

At this, John stood and pulled Blair with him, back and away from Todd.  Timothy, who hadn't said much, stood alongside her as well, and she fell into his arms.  "Please, don't let him die.  I can't live if he's gone."  

Ribsky swallowed, trying to take in the truth of the scene.  John went back to Todd as Timothy took Blair to his chest.

The older man didn't answer.  Everything he had experienced within the last few weeks was flooding back.  He'd lost one son.  He couldn't . . .

"He's not dead, he's going to make it," announced Jack Ribsky, who Blair still didn't know.  The medics carried Todd, on a stretcher, out through the cellar doors, and Jack approached them.  "He bled a lot, but don't be alarmed.  He's going to be fine."

Ribsky turned his attention to the carcass and Bitsy, standing by it.  "Who's this woman?"

"That's Todd's mother."  Blair said.

Ribsky seemed concerned again, as his eyebrows furrowed.  He looked around the room, and surveyed it, for the first time since he had gotten there.  He walked toward the paneled wall.  "What is this place?"

"This," Blair said, still crying, "is my husband's torture chamber of a long ago past.  I have to go, John, I have to be with him," she said, attempting to break free of Timothy.

"I'll bring ya, Bridgette, let's go," Timothy said, as Blair took her son from Bitsy, who made no protest or eye contact, and walked out hurriedly.  Bitsy made no move to go with them or to react. 

John looked at Ribsky.  "Should we check the rest of the house?"

"What about her?"  Ribsky said.  

John noticed that the woman was unnaturally still.  He walked to her, "Mrs. Manning?  Hey, Mrs. Manning?  Can you look at me?"

She didn't respond or raise her eyes.  Her view was fixed on the place where Todd was just lying in his own blood on the floor.  John walked past her, still not noticing the injury to her head which was camouflaged by her hair.  He was followed by Ribsky, and spied the secret door in the paneled wall.  "I think I know what this is about," John said, searching his memory.

Jack Ribsky said, "Yeah?  Well you should share it with me, then, because I have no idea.  What the fuck is this place?"

John pulled the small door open, and the two of them ducked and walked inside.

Bitsy was still behind them, now staring down at Peter.  John and Jack went into the room, and the older man pulled the chain on the single light in the ceiling.  John, looking around, said, "Blair was right.  This is a torture chamber."

Jack walked to the closet, and opening it, reached up and moved the chains.  "Ceiling cuffs," he said, "nasty stuff."

Bitsy had wandered in behind them, and when she entered the room, she looked around her, an expression of horror on her face.  She closed her eyes and then screamed, falling toward the ground.  John instinctively had moved toward her and caught her in his arms before she hit the cellar floor.  "My God," he said aloud.  

Jack Ribsky said, "Let's get her out of here."

"Not soon enough," John answered, and as she fell back, her head tipped, and her hair cascaded back, revealing the gash in her forehead.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
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Failings of the Fathers: 74

A car pulled up in front of The Manning house in the neighborhood where Todd Manning grew up.  Inside, the driver tucked his holster back into his jacket, and looked into the rearview mirror.  

Jack Ribsky sat for a minute, thinking, "Suspicious activity, huh?" as he noticed a car in the driveway.  

"Airport rental," he said.  He noticed, further in, more hidden, a black Chevy.  "So, what's going on here, Connie?" he asked aloud.  The neighbors who had called to tell him there was something strange going on at the house were also concerned that they thought they may have seen Connie Bensonhurst, his sister-in-law, going inside.  And, he remembered, the neighbor also mentioned hearing screams coming from the house.  This made his stomach sour.

He looked from the car window onto the property.  Everything seemed all right.  It looked like a regular day in a suburban, quiet community.  There were few lights on, and dusk was releasing its dim purple haze over the town.  He checked again, as part force of habit, that his gun was in place, and the safety was off.  Just in case.  

He opened the door and started to disembark when another car, airport rental, drove up and parked behind him.  Catching it in the rearview, he noticed two men, one younger, the other about his age, peering into The Manning property, just as he had done moments before.  He got out and went toward their car.

John turned to Timothy.  "Who the Hell is that?" he asked the air.

Timothy said, "I don't know, Lad, but we're about to find out."

The man was approaching their car.  

The man came to the window, flashing identification.  John flashed his badge in response.  The man said, "Police, eh?  Ribsky.  I'm a private investigator, ex-serviceman.  Someone called about suspicious happenings at this house.  My sister-in-law owns it.  Was left to her by one Peter Manning."

"I'm Lieutenant John McBain, this is Timothy Broderick.  I'm off the clock, but some friends of mine may be in trouble in there."

As he spoke the words, a shot rang out from inside the house.  John said, "Let's go, there's a child in there," and threw open his door, almost butting into Ribsky.  But the man didn't balk.  Instead, he moved, faster than John would have guessed, toward the front door.

Timothy and John went to the side entrance, and within a few moments, all three were inside the house. Timothy, breathing heavily, and John, standing over Connie Bensonhurst, as Jack Ribsky came around the corner and saw her.  

"No, oh God," Ribsky said, crouching beside her.  He looked up, "Cold.  Looks like . . . she was beaten to death."

John didn't respond, but both he and Timothy knew who had done the honors.  Guns drawn, all three men looked around and searched the upper level.  That was when they heard the second shot, and could tell it was below them.  Timothy, suddenly remembering, said, "The chamber!  In the cellar!"  

John's face was contorted a little with hearing the words, and Ribsky was stuck, momentarily, on them as well.  What chamber?  What the Hell . . .  Instead of trying to garner an answer, he followed their lead and headed for the cellar stairs.

***

"Sam, what is the matter?"  the nun asked from the doorway to his old room, which now was empty since his family had moved to Unforgettable.

He was lying on the bed, his head turned toward the wall.  She saw him sigh and draw in a ragged breath.  He was crying.  She approached, sitting on the bed next to him.  He kept his back to her.  She said, "Little one, ya shouldn't hide y'ar tears."

"I'm supposed to be a big boy," he said, through sobs, "but I only want my Mom and Dad."

She patted his back.  "So?  That's all right.  I want mine as well, and I'm an old lady."

He turned to her, "You do?"

"Of course.  I think about them all the time.  They're no longer on this earth, but I miss them and want them.  But y'ar parents are alive and well, and probably on the way back to ya."

"My Dad almost died, before."

"I know that, Little One."

"He almost died in Ireland.  Mom said he got brought back to life."

"Yes, that's true.  He's a tough one, that father of y'ars."

"I don't understand stuff," he said.  

She could hear the pain and sadness in his little voice, and her heart broke.  She said, "Like what stuff, may I ask?"

"I don't understand a lot of stuff.  I'm too little, that's what everyone says."  

"Well, sometimes they can be wrong.  Sometimes even little people can know things.  Why don't ya tell me what's confusing ya?"

He turned to her.  His face was red and tear-stained.  He said, "My Dad."

"All right, what is it about him that confuses ya?"

He thought for a very long time, his facial expressions demonstrating concentration and emotion.  "He had a bad life."

The nun, petted his head.  "Yes, he had a bad life.  Until he had ya, and y'ar brothers and sisters, and of course, because of y'ar mother."

"I don't like those stories about his Dad."

"No one does, Sam."

"I want him to come home.  And Mom."

"They will, they'll be home sooner than ya think."

"And Ray."

The nun thought of the tiny boy, with the likes of Peter Manning, and shuddered.  She said, "Any time now."

"Okay," he said.  He looked up at the nun with his eyes, large, and tears resting in the corners.  "But can we pray so God will help them?"

"Yes, of course.  We can pray.  I'll show ya how."

"I know how.  Mom told me."  He got off the bed and knelt at the side of it.  He closed his eyes, and his lips moved without sound.  She found herself in awe of his innocence; as he closed his eyes, and a tear spilled over onto his cheek.

***


In the continually dimming light of the cellar, Blair tried to strain her eyes to see who had shot Peter dead through the head.  On the inside staircase behind her was a figure, she could not make out at first in the dark, the gun still smoking, raised and pointed still where Peter had stood.  

In her amazement, Blair forgot to shield Ray's face as they both turned to see the shooter.  Her son said, in a clear and sweet voice, "Gamma Bitty!"

Blair instinctively shushed her son, and looked back to the scene.  Todd was lying, splayed on the cellar floor, crumpled and unmoving.  She was overcome with fear.  

No.  Not this, please.  Not now, not in front of my baby, not ever. . .

Her mind went back to all of the times he'd told her that he'd die for his children:  Leona in the nursery, Mitch in La Boulaei, the bear.  She felt a surge of pain and sorrow rise through her, starting in the pit of her stomach, and ending in her throat.  She heard herself whimper like a child.  He just got back to us.  He fought his way BACK TO US.  No, not this.  Please.  Don't make it that his son just watched him die.

She wanted to go to him, but she was so afraid.  She wanted him to get up and come toward her, and take his baby son and hold him.  He didn't move.  Ray, who was pressed against her chest again, said, "Down, Mommy.  Want to see Daddy."

"No, Ray, not now."  She held her son to her, and closed her eyes.  For a moment, she was hoping to open them and see him, standing before her, in all his stubborn, beautiful turmoil.  She kept them closed, hoping to shut out what might be the truth.  That he might not ever come back to her this time.

I love him so much. 

Then, she heard his voice, laboring.  "Blair, get the baby out of here," he said.  He sounded far away.  As she ran to his side, after putting Ray down at his grandmother's feet, she called to him.  

"Todd, please," she practically stumbled to the ground beside him.  First, noticing he was breathing, and starting to move, she could see he was in pain, and spied blood spattered on his clothes.  "My Love, we're fine, the baby's fine," she said, crouching beside him.  Don't let him die.  Don't let him leave us.  "Don't leave us, Todd," she heard herself say quietly.

He reached for her hand.  "I feel like we've done this a lot before.  Me hurt, me bleeding.  Me in peril.  Such beautiful memories, huh?"

She broke through her panic and tears and laughed lightly.  "Oh, Todd, just say you're all right?"

"He just got me in the shoulder, that's all.  He's a shit shot.  I'm okay, but it hurts like a bitch.  What about Ray?"

"He's fine.  He's over there, just worried about his Daddy."

Todd pushed himself to sitting the best he could.  "Come here, Ray.  Come on."

Ray hesitated a moment.  Todd said, "It was Momma?  She shot Peter?"

Blair shook her head in agreement.

The little boy ran to his father, and Todd was able to embrace him with one arm, and pull him close to his heart.  Ray said, "Daddy," very softly, and cried.

Bitsy dropped the gun, mechanically, onto the staircase, and then walked past them to Peter's body.  She stood over him, robotic.  She looked to Todd a moment, and he said, "I'm okay, Momma."

The older woman sighed.  She looked down at Peter.  Then, to their amazement, she opened her mouth, and said:  "I should have done this the first time you touched my son, you bastard," and she kicked his still body.

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Failings of the Fathers: 73

"You might want my son, but you won't get him.  You'd better bet on that," Todd's eyes took on the fury Blair remembered well from his younger days but his tone remained calm and steely.  

Steel.  They'd discussed that very thing the first night they were together.   It was so long ago.  Peter had just died . . .He's alive, Blair.  He's definitely alive.

"Threatening me.  Hmf.  I've certainly got the upper hand.  I've got the gun, and your boy.  I take care of you, and put your wife in those cuffs.  You know the ones.  The ones I put there for your mother, that tramp.  How's that image?"

Todd felt bile rising in his throat, and he swallowed it down as hard as he could.  "You're sick and so sure of yourself and your power.  But, you always were.  As much as you hated him, if Coach didn't come in that night, you'd be a pile of rotting bones by now."  He reached behind himself to get the gun from his waistband.

Peter said, "Put the gun you've got down on the ground.  I want to laugh at the fact that you haven't used it yet.  Pansy, and you never change.  By now, you should have shot me dead."

"While you hold my baby?  That's what you would do, Peter, not me."

"Peter?  You don't have the respect to call me 'Dad?'"

Todd felt heat under his eyelids, and could barely control his urge to grab the man by the throat and squeeze until there was no life left.  But his son.  Their little boy.  He couldn't let him grow up like he did with violence and hate around him, or see his father, and then his mother, gunned down.  No.  He reached for the gun.

Peter was pointing his pistol at the baby now, at his chest.  His little tear-stained face was almost blank, but he was sucking on a lollipop that Peter handed him.  Todd brought the gun forward and put it on the ground in front of him.  Peter said, "Kick it.  Toward me."

He did as asked.  Blair was back behind him, one hand on his lower back.  He pushed her completely behind him with his arm and said, "Blair's leaving now.  Let her go and take Ray with her.  Come on.  You don't want them."  His son had become very still.  Shock, maybe.  God.

"On the contrary, I want everything that you hold dear.  Now, get on your knees."

Todd studied his father's face as he slowly cooperated.  He could see that time had made tracks on the man's forehead and around his eyes, and he saw everything he had forgotten as a child and a young man: a sick, cruel sadistic person who had no compassion or capacity for love.  A sociopath.  A sadist and a sociopath.  He raised me to be a monster, and now, he's going to kill me in front of my son, to make him have demons . . .and then . . . hurt Blair however his sick needs tell him to.  Gotta do something, now. . .  

Once on his knees, he made eye contact with his son, and said, "Ray, close your eyes, Buddy."  

Of course, his son didn't listen.  Instead, he dropped the lollipop to the floor, and said, "You're bad!" into Peter's ear.

Blair screamed, "No!  Todd, no!"

Todd took advantage of his wife's inadvertent diversion and shouted, "Raymond Thomas Manning, no kicking!"

The toddler suddenly kicked frantically at Peter and squirmed enough to wriggle loose.  Todd, on his knees, reached out shoved the little boy past him toward his mother.  Peter, who had been taken by surprise, lifted the gun and aimed it at Todd's head.

***


Miguel was brought into the office by his doctor, and there seemed to be an air of caution in the room.  He said, "Why am I here?"

"We have to let you know something.  This is Detective Schuler, he has some news.  You . . . were listed as next of kin."

"To who?  Aiden?  That can't be, his father, brother and wife . . ."

"No, not to Aiden," the doctor said, bowing his head a bit.  "We're going to wait for your therapist, if that's acceptable."

Miguel was not understanding.  If there were clues to what was going on, he wasn't picking them up well.    His face demonstrated puzzlement.  It was quiet as they waited for Dr. Amaker to come in.  As he entered, Miguel looked up, and said, "Doctor, what is this all about?"

"Detective Schuler has brought something," the therapist said, "he needs you to look at."

The policeman handed him a small scrap of leather.  Miguel said, with his expression fading, "That's Malcolm's.  It was a piece of a leather bag that his wife had woven for him.  To keep his tools."  He handed it back.  "Why do you have that?"

The detective looked toward the doctor and therapist.  Dr. Amaker said, "It was found . . . on a man who was killed in the airport."

Miguel felt hollow.  "Killed?"

"Yes.  He was found dead in a janitorial closet."

"I . . . don't understand.  Why would someone kill Malcolm?  He was . . . I don't understand this," and his voice had changed with every sentence from confused and meek, to determined and angry.

"We're trying to surmise that," the detective answered.  He handed Miguel something else.  "Do you recognize this?"

"Yes.  It's Malcolm and his wife.  One of the few pictures he had left."

"He was . . . holding it, in his hand."

Miguel swallowed, but he knew that the man they found had to be his friend.  "It's him, then.  For certain."

"I believe it is, yes.  His identification was all taken.  These were the only two things we could find.  We could not identify him via the body."

Miguel knew that meant that however Malcolm had died was something torturous that left him unrecognizable.  He said, "This can't be right."

"It is.  I'm sorry," the detective said.  "You're on his medical records as next of kin.  Seems he had no one else."

"No, he . . . he didn't."

Dr. Amaker added, "This is going to be hard for you, Miguel, but we'll get through it.  Do you have any idea who would have done this?"

His eyes brightened.  "You know, right when he disappeared, and wouldn't return my calls, so did Calvin.  You know, the crochety guy, with the heart surgery?"

The detective was taking notes, "Doctors, can you get me a description and a full name?"

One nodded, and left.  Dr. Amaker said, "Miguel, let's have our session early today, say, right after this conversation?"

"Not sure I'm up to it," he said.

"That's exactly why I want to do this.  I'll be in my office," and he departed.

***

Blair took her son in her arms, and through gasps and sobs, she kissed his face.  "Mommy!" he cried, and his little hands were gripping her blouse.  Relieved and overcome with joy at both seeing him and holding him again, she hugged him to her.  

Todd yelled to her, "Get him out of here!"  

Looking up from their reunion, she raised her head just in time to see Peter, with the gun lowered toward Todd's head, sneer like she'd never forget.  "You just went too far," Peter said.  The anger was palpable; Todd was still on his knees in front of Peter, staring up at him.  For a moment, from behind, she flashed on one of Bitsy's drawings.

Blair realized she was shaking as the older man said, "You never were going to amount to much.  And look at you, on your knees, in front of me, again.  Some things never change." 

Todd said, "No, some things never do.  Blair, now.  Get out!"

Frantic to get her son to safety but afraid to leave her husband, Blair backed up toward the cellar stairs that lead outside when Todd jumped to his feet and attacked Peter, his hands going for his throat.  She turned her back to make sure her son was completely shielded by her back, and in doing so, she heard the scuffle and the jarring sound of the gun going off.  She jumped, and the baby screamed, "Daddy!" as Blair covered his head with her hand and pushed his head into her chest, tighter, to shield him.  

It was all dreamlike, but exceedingly fast.  She felt as if she couldn't move, as she tried to calm her son and turned to watch her husband fall to the ground.  "No!"  she called out, and then struggled to keep Ray, who was squirming and crying, from turning and seeing Todd, the blood that had spattered to the floor, and Peter still holding the gun.  Her hand was on the back of Ray's head as she sucked in air in shock.  

She was back in the penthouse, years back, pregnant with Starr.  She could still hear, as if it were today, Dorian on the phone.  

No, he's not dead.  No.  He can't be . . .

All this.  All this for nothing?  He came back to us.  He came back from Leona, from Carlo, from Mitch.  No.  No.

Peter smiled, half of his mouth curling upward, his eyes crazed with triumph.  She opened her mouth to scream again, when Peter's head suddenly jerked back.  Unexpectedly, his forehead spurted blood through a small hole between his eyes.  She gasped in shock, and turned to look behind her, still keeping Ray's face buried in the safety of her chest, to see where the shot had come from.

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Failings of the Fathers: 72

"Dear Addie, thank ya for the warm greeting," the nun said, walking into the foyer at La Boulaie.

"You're welcome, Sister.  How was your trip?"

"The flight was uneventful, but the time away was, well, not appealing, I say.  I'm hoping things will return to normal soon."

"I'm sorry to hear about your nephew," Addie said.

"Thank ya," the nun said, just as Sam came barreling down the stairs into her arms.  

"Sister Becca Thrin!  You're back!"  He hugged her.

"Yes, Sam, I'm here.  How are ya?"

The boy started to cry.  She took his hand, "Oh, Dear.  Come on with me, into the living room, where we can sit down and talk a bit, all right, Lad?"

He nodded and followed her.

Addie ascended the stairs to let Jack know that the nun was there.  As she rounded the corner at the top to go toward his room, she noticed the door was closed.  Puzzled, and having concern as well, she went to it and knocked.

Inside, Jack was sleeping and Jenna was in his arms.  He woke to the rapping on the door, and sat up.  Jenna did the same.  He went to the door, and she moved herself to the chair.

"Yeah, hi, Grandma Addie," he said, as he opened the door.

"Jack, the door is supposed to be open when Jenna visits."

"It's my fault,"  Jenna spoke up.  "He was very upset, beside himself.  I just thought we needed some privacy."

"I can tell you, though, nothing happened.  She's just not ready for that, she's a really sweet girl," Jack chimed in.  Jenna's face flushed.

The kids seemed sincere, and under the circumstances, Addie felt it wasn't the time or place for the discussion - or the person.  She knew it would be up to Todd and Blair to deal with it when they got back.  She said, "Someone's here to see you."

"Mom?  Dad?  Are they home?"  his demeanor changed to excitement.

"No, Jack, it's Sister Rebecca Katherine.  She just got back to the states.  I am not sure you knew, but your uncle, Aiden, died."

Jack sat back on the bed a moment, as if defeated.  "Died?  That's Dad's new brother?  Grandpa Timothy's real kid?"

"Yes."

"Shit."

"Jack," Addie began.

"I know, my mouth."

"No, I just was going to say I'm sorry about it, and that the nun is downstairs if you want to see her."

"I'll be right there," he said, and looked at Jenna.  She was still a little red-faced and embarrassed.  He said,  "I'm sorry."

"No, it's my fault.  I am the one who broke the rule and closed the door."

"Yeah, but it's my wacky family, and I know the deal."

"It's all right.  You just . . . needed that."

"It felt good," he said.  "Just being there with you, like that."

She smiled, and her face was still pinked with innocent shame.  "I know."

"Thank you," he said, walking to her.  She was still sitting in the desk chair, when he leaned down to kiss her.

***

"Okay, then what?  What do you want?  Just let Blair go, with my son.  Then you and I can settle up."  Todd said.

"I want your son, someone's got to teach him right from wrong."

"He's a pest, doesn't listen.  He moves around too much, runs away.  You don't like that much in a victim."

Peter glared at him.  "I want you to miss him.  Every day."

Todd began to get alarmed by his father's words, and Blair, leaning over, now stood, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.  She said, "Over my dead body, you sick bastard!"

Todd grabbed her around the waist just as she was trying to lunge at Peter.  She was losing control, and he didn't blame her.  He had to be the one who wasn't losing it.  Stay with this.  He's crazy, he's . . . sick.  Stay with it, don't lose it now.

Peter squinted at her, and then said, "You're a fiery one.  I've got just the place for you."

He backed up toward the secret room, still holding Ray.  He was tiring; they could both see it.  Todd hoped he tired himself so much that there would be an opening to get the baby from him and strangle him until he turned purple, and his head exploded.

Blair said, "I'm not afraid of you.  You're scum.  Picking on innocent children, or people who can't defend themselves.  I'm not afraid of your 'room,'" she said, still in Todd's restraining grip.

"I know just the place for you," he repeated, and then said, "we can get along just fine once you're in there."

Todd said, "Let the baby go, and Blair can take him home.  I'll do whatever you want, I'll go in the room, whatever, just let them get out of here.  Who wants to be saddled with a little headstrong toddler and an even more-headstrong woman?  Neither one of them is a really good listener. . ." he tried to reason with Peter.  "and you hate that."

"She'll listen, if she wants you and her son to live.  She'll do whatever I want her to, Wrap those pretty, long legs around me., especially if I do this," he said, taking out the gun and pointing the nozzle toward Todd's head.  "I can just as easily turn this on the kid."

Blair sucked in air so quickly that it created a loud gasp that filled the cellar.  "No," she said, now calmer and considerably less cocky, "no, don't.  He's just a baby."

"After I get rid of Todd, you and I will have a great deal of fun, Mrs. Manning.  Is that your name, Mrs. Manning?  Blair?"

"You don't have to kill anyone.  I'll go in the room,"  Blair said, in an urgent whisper, "I swear I will.  I'll do whatever you want."

Todd was still holding her at the waist.  He was ready to die, if he had to, to prevent Peter from getting his hands on her and from taking his son anywhere.  He said, "Come on, old man, it's me you want.  From the start, I was nothing but a thorn in your side.  You even told me that, often.  I was never the son you wanted.  I wasn't in your image, a total disappointment.  It's really about me, isn't it?"

Peter flinched, as sweat went into one of his eyes, and he wiped it with the sleeve of the arm holding the gun, which brought the pistol dangerously close to Little Ray's head.  He said, "You'll never understand me or my reasons.  You were always like you are right now: a pansy."

Todd was surging with rage.  His instinct was to lunge at Peter and take his chances, but his heart was warning him to tread carefully.  With all his strength, he pushed Blair directly behind him, and grabbed the belt of her pants in front to hold her there.  At first, she resisted, but then, sensing that he knew what he was doing, she went with it.  He said, "Why don't you deal with me, then?  Just a pansy-ass disappointment, a reject.  It should be simple for you to face off with me.  Just me.  You don't need any woman or kid for that."

Peter's eyes shifted from desperate and angry to simply pure evil.  He was enraged, almost to the point that he had forgotten he was holding Ray.  His focus was on Todd's words, and Todd had realized that the man was far gone.  He'd been living some kind of mystery life, for almost twenty years, waiting for this very moment.  Obsession.  And that scared him.  He knew years of planning were built into this day, and for Peter, it would go how he wanted or not go at all. 

***

"Tina, come in," Viki said, holding her arms out.  The sisters embraced, and Tina felt herself giving in to emotion.  Viki said, "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks," she managed to croak out.  "He's gone."

"I know how much he meant to you.  You couldn't stop talking about him when we last spoke."

"We . . . got married, Viki.  Right before he died."

"Oh, that's dreadful, Tina.  What can I do?"

"Nothing," she said, separating from her sister.  "Nothing that I can think of."

"Well, definitely come in.  Let's go and sit down in the library, and we can talk."

"I'm not sure what to do with myself."

"Come on," Viki said, and put an arm around her.  

They sat in the library on Viki's flowered sofa.  Tina said, "I can't believe this all happened.  And now, Todd and Blair's family attacked.   I still don't understand what happened there."

Viki gulped, "Peter Manning happened."

"What?  I don't understand."

"The man who attacked Todd's family was Peter Manning, supposedly.  Dorian told me.  Todd and Blair went after their baby son who was kidnapped.  I think Blair called her and told her."

Tina went white.  "Ray?"

"Yes."

"No, not Ray, please?"  she stood and wobbled as she did.

Viki instinctively grabbed her hands to steady her.  "Tina you must get yourself together, you've been through quite a shock."

Tina slowly sat down.  "Peter.  Peter Manning has Little Ray?"

"I know, it's impossible to think of but he's alive and has him."

Tina slouched back onto the couch.  Looking to the ceiling, she said, "You know, I never was close with my brother.  But he was there for me, in Switzerland.  And before, with the Mitch thing, he didn't press charges.  He tried to understand.  Maybe because he has been a pariah before and knows what it's like for everyone to judge you.  He made a lot of mistakes.   But he doesn't deserve this, does he?"

"No.  I don't believe he does, at all.  He's made a few terrible mistakes, but he's also had some terrible things done to him.  This is an innocent child."

"Poor Ray.  Blair must be out of her mind."

"Yes, I'd say that'a fair assessment.  But what about you?"

Tina let the hurt rise in her chest again, and said, "I'll make it.  I have before."

"Yes, but..."

"He was kind.  He made me feel like a good person."

"Then I suppose you can grab hold of that and make it a reality for your life."

She smiled, through tears, "Why not?"

***

"It can't be much more, Lad.  The map says we're almost there."  Timothy said, with his face in the unfolded recesses of the atlas.  "How did ya get this address?"  he asked.  "Are ya sure it's right?"

"I got it from DMV records.  Not that tough to do, when you're a cop."  John answered, focused on driving.  "How much longer?"

"A few miles, it seems."

"Then we keep on," John added.

"I'm worried about the child, and Blair, of course.  And Todd, because who knows how he'll do facing this monster of a man."

"You know, I remember once Marty telling me that Todd called himself a monster over the years.  He believed he was one.  Probably helped him act like one, more than once."

For a moment, Timothy was silent, then, "I agree.  But it's easy to see how misguided he was, growing up in that."

John didn't answer, but he agreed, deep down.  He didn't want to make excuses for Todd Manning, but somehow, with everything that had been revealed since Todd came back to town at the Vickerman Premier all those months back, he knew it was true.  He grew up in a world of violence and degradation.  It didn't make his actions right, but it explained so much.  He said, "We must be almost there.  Can't believe this car doesn't have a GPS."

"Ah, ya wanted one of those?  I have it on this blasted contraption Todd gave me, I do."  He fumbled with his phone.

John said, "Too late for that, I think this might be the road."  He turned on to the next left.

Timothy said, "I want us to drive up and see Todd holding his son.  As if all is said and done, ay?"

"We can't be that lucky."

"Ya have the luck of the Irish on our side, John McBain, and ya, of all people, should know that."

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