Chapter Twenty-Nine
7:00PM
"Oh, Ms. Spencer," Maxie said breathlessly as she smiled broadly and ran up to the counter at Kelly’s Diner. "My mom drove me over here. She’s parking the car, but I just had to rush in to give this to you. It’s a card from me, and even my little sister Georgie wrote Frankie some type of a note. See?"
Maxie handed over the two envelopes, and Ruby’s eyes brightened when she saw Georgie’s creation. "Your sister, she’s very sweet, isn’t she? What a cutie. Tell her thank you." Ruby met Maxie’s expectant blue eyes. "Frankie will love this. Thanks so much for thinking about him and caring. I’ll make sure that he gets these tomorrow. You’ll make his day."
Maxie blushed. "I hope so," she confided. "I like him a lot – since the first time I saw him in here. We were supposed to have a date when he got hurt, and I hope we can make it up real soon."
Love at first sight, thought Ruby. I’m glad that this special girl will be there for him. Hopefully it all won’t hit the fan when the truth comes out.
"Ruby!" said Felicia brightly. "Long time no see. I miss my morning cup of coffee at Kelly’s Diner."
"Well, we miss your daily dose of sunshine," Ruby teased. "Come back soon and have a free cup of coffee on the house."
"I’ll do that," Felicia stated firmly with an agreeable nod of her head. Her demeanor shifted slightly, and she asked, "So how long have you known this Frankie?"
Here it comes, Ruby thought. It’s not my place to tell, so I won’t. "Frankie came here about five weeks ago," said Ruby nonchalantly. "He’s been a model tenant. I’ve enjoyed having him here. We’re all hoping that he gets out of the hospital real soon."
Felicia’s face twisted with confusion as she turned to Maxie. "Honey, would you get a table for us? Maybe Ruby can fix you some french fries in a moment."
"Sure," Maxie said agreeably, her teenaged appetite always ready for a good dose of salt and grease.
"That was smooth," Ruby said. "Got her away quickly." She smiled briefly at Felicia. "What’s on your mind, Mrs. Scorpio-Jones?"
Felicia twisted her hands and scrunched up her face in her usual "little girl" style of conflict management. "Oh, I just didn’t want to upset Maxie," she said brightly. "Since my daughter has dated this young man, I was curious as to why he’s still in the ICU. Is it serious? What happened? Where are his parents?"
Ruby concentrated on wiping off the counter and collecting used coffee cups to place into the dish tray under the counter. "Being his landlady doesn’t give me total information privileges," she said. "From what I’ve heard, he took a rather bad fall down a long flight of stairs. A ruptured kidney is very serious. He needed emergency surgery. I’m sure he has other injuries that complicate matters."
"But have you seen him?" Felicia asked.
"I’m just reporting what others have told me," replied Ruby, trying to avoid answering the question. She knew that only relatives would be able to visit a sick boy in an ICU environment, and she didn’t want to reveal her relationship to Frankie, not when Luke was still trying to win custody and hadn’t yet talked to the FBI. Things were too tentative to be made public, especially to the police commissioner’s wife. "Can I bring you something to eat?" asked Ruby politely. "I’m going to the back room to make Maxie’s fries."
Felicia continued to look concerned, but she shook her head no.
"Back in a minute," Ruby said quickly as she left Felicia standing at the counter.
What is she hiding? Felicia wondered. And why would she even bother? I might need to pay a visit to General Hospital.
~*~*~*~
8:30 PM
"And why should I care?" Nik protested loudly as he dropped his silver fork to his porcelain plate with a loud bang. Nikolas glared at his father and blinked rapidly as his anger overtook him. "He’s crazy, and I have a hard time believing I’m even related to someone like him. He messed up my car!"
Stefan grew serious and stared at his son. "Control yourself at the dinner table," he said tersely. He folded his napkin and carefully laid it on the table beside his plate as he glanced at an anxious Laura. "You are seventeen years old, old enough to take your mother’s feelings into account before you speak. And as far as your automobile, you have that because I gave it to you. I can choose to take it back." Stefan leaned back in his chair and stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "We’re talking about a human being here, and you are whining about a machine of steel. Priorities, Nikolas. You need to learn about priorities. Family comes first."
"He is not my family!" Nikolas yelled as he gritted his teeth and pounded his fist into the table.
"He’s your half brother," Laura interjected.
"Prove it," Nikolas challenged with flashing eyes. "How do we know that this is not a scam of some kind? That he wants to take advantage of the Cassadine family?"
Stefan chuckled. "I hardly think that someone raised by Frank Smith is in need of a little cash," he said knowingly. "Frank Smith’s net worth must be in the vast millions."
"And, Luke has had a paternity test. It was positive to 99 percent," Laura added as she pursed her lips. Her cheeks were flushed, as she was becoming angry with her son as well.
"So he’s Luke’s son," Nikolas commented. "That doesn’t mean that he’s yours."
Laura’s face went pale, and Stefan rose from the table. "This discussion is over for now, Brephos. Go to your chambers for the remainder of the evening. This is a difficult situation for everyone, not just you. Develop some respect and self-control. The boy is your half brother. That is a fact. Any fool could see that he looks much like your mother besides the scientific tests. You will find a way to deal with this." Stefan’s eyes softened. "I know this is a shock and difficult for you. Your mother and I will help you in any way that we can."
Nikolas’ cheek twitched as he glared at both of his parents. He stood up from the table, threw his napkin down in disgust and left the room.
~*~*~*~
9:30PM
Bobbie opened the front door when the doorbell rang. She smiled broadly at the sight of Johnny. "Get in here," she said good-naturedly. Johnny smiled and walked into the living room. Bobbie placed her hand on his arm, and he flinched, said "Ow!" and backed away with a frown.
"What’s wrong?" Bobbie asked worriedly, her nurse’s radar on high.
Johnny shook his head. "I told you they went after me first. They shot at me, and I was hit – in my arm. It’s patched up, a flesh wound."
"Come with me to the bathroom, so I can see it in a better light," Bobbie instructed. Johnny shrugged. "You don’t need to fuss over me," he said. He laughed when he saw the look that Bobbie gave him. "Yes, ma’am," he corrected himself. Johnny followed Bobbie to the main bathroom and sat down on the toilet while he removed his jacket and his shirt. He winced when he touched the gunshot wound on his arm. It was seeping a small amount of blood, and Bobbie shook her head at the amateur repair job in front of her.
As Bobbie rifled through her first aid kit, Sly showed up in the doorway. "Who’s he?" he asked, pointing at Johnny. He looked closer and said, "Oh, it’s Uncle Johnny. Or is that who you really are?" Sly stood there with his arms crossed as a challenge to the man seated in the bathroom. "So you got injured taking care of baby Lucky?" he asked snottily. Sly’s nostrils flared, and his eyes stared intently at Johnny.
Johnny glanced at Bobbie, not sure what to say to the angry teen glaring at him.
Bobbie composed herself and replied calmly. "This is Johnny Callahan, Sly. He worked for Frankie as his bodyguard. He’s here to see Frankie."
"I don’t like being lied to Mr. DeMarco," Sly said with a disgusted tone accenting the last two words. "I don’t appreciate it at all." Sly’s red, angry faced glanced at Bobbie, and he slipped past his aunt to continue on down the hallway to the front door. Sly slammed out of the house and sat down on the steps, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.
"I’m sorry, Bobbie," Johnny said apologetically. "I didn’t mean to cause trouble for your nephew."
"He’s overly sensitive right now because of Frankie coming back here. He lives with my brother, and feels displaced by Frankie being Luke’s son. He lost his mother at a young age, and then his father and aunt and uncle were murdered by Frank Smith’s organization two years ago." Bobbie paused and raised an eyebrow at Johnny, whose face set as his eyes looked down at the floor.
"Maybe you should go find him and talk to him," Johnny suggested. "I can leave." He stood up and reached for his shirt.
"No," Bobbie sighed. "I know my nephew well enough. He needs to get some air and time to be by himself to think. I want you to stay here with me at the Brownstone. Frankie needs you."
Johhny’s grateful eyes met Bobbie’s, and he leaned in to capture her lips in a kiss. "You’re a special lady," he complimented her as he ran the side of his hand down her right cheek. "Thank you." Johnny sat back down and said, "But make sure you don’t forget that your other nephew still needs you. My son Rickie, he’s twelve and pretty upset with me. He feels abandoned because of my job, the danger and the times that I have to be away. Sometimes the quiet ones get left behind."
Bobbie ran her hand over Johnny’s hair. "I won’t forget," she said lightly. "But thanks for caring."
"How’s Frankie?" Johnny asked seriously. "I’m concerned. I can’t stop thinking about him."
"Frankie is still in the ICU, in serious condition," Bobbie stated. "He’s asked for you several times. We’re trying to be optimistic, but his condition isn’t improving, and that’s not a good sign. I’m hoping that he’ll perk up when he sees you tomorrow morning."
Johnny’s brow creased. "What is wrong with him exactly? What happened to him?"
Bobbie paused. "Frankie was shot before the assassination of Frank. He was hit in his bulletproof vest a bunch of times, but the gunshot wound was several days old, a serious chest wound. Apparently his kidney was lacerated at some time, and a fall down some stairs ruptured it."
Johnny paled. "There was an assassination attempt on him about five days ago, but we all thought that it was a flesh wound." Johnny ran his hand over his face and saddened. "That’s why he was in so much pain. He nearly OD’d on some pain pills the mob doc gave him. Even the morphine didn’t help enough. And the kidney laceration. Oh God. How in the world did he make it back here?"
"No one seems to know that information right now. He showed up at Luke’s and then collapsed. He did suffer the injuries from the fall when he was running away from Frank’s estate, but he also has a bleeding disorder that’s interfering with his healing. They haven’t diagnosed it yet."
Johnny nodded. "I could tell something was wrong with him. He kept running a fever when we were in Port Charles, and he was tired a lot."
"Good observation," stated Bobbie. "We should have you talk to the doctors so you can give some history on the boy. We’re all operating in the dark here, and he either can’t or won’t talk much."
"Frank abused him badly," Johnny said with his teeth clenched and a sad, worried look in his eyes. "Nobody could do anything about it or we’d be six feet under. I used to try to talk to Frankie, to make him feel more normal, explain why Frank was such a crazy person. I’d patch him up or find a doctor for him sometimes." Johnny looked away and choked up. "He always had a bruise or two it seems - at least recently." Johnny’s face set and turned red with anger. "That bastard kicked him so hard in the kidney that he bled, and he held a gun to his head last week. Made him kneel execution style. He told Frankie that he loved him, but that he might have to kill him. Can you imagine that?"
Bobbie laughed uneasily. "My father was no prince, but not that bad. He wasn’t an outright psychopath."
"People got nervous around Frank, and he seemed to lose his grip over the past few years. I was loyal, but that’s why some of the organization revolted. Too much uncertainty, too many missing persons."
~*~*~*~
"Hey, Sly." Johnny sat down beside Sly on the front steps of the Brownstone. He looked the boy in the eye and said, "I’m sorry. I lied to you, and that’s not good. I don’t like it when people lie to me. I promise you that I won’t ever lie to you again. Can you forgive me?" Johnny’s earnest eyes sought out Sly’s hurt ones, and he smiled.
"Why did you have to pretend to be someone else?" Sly asked shortly.
Johnny shrugged and clapped his hands together on his knees. "It’s standard practice," he explained. "If you come to town on business, you take on a different identity. DeMarco is my ex-wife’s maiden name. My real name is Callahan, and I work for Frankie as his bodyguard. Because I’m so much older, I used to look out for him, too. Kind of like the uncle that I said I was. Frank Smith is dead now, so I don’t consider that I work for him anymore. It’s a great feeling."
"Were you the one who killed my father and my aunt and uncle?" Sly asked with a tense, brittle voice. "My uncle and the police said that Frank Smith killed them, but they couldn’t prove it." Sly looked Johnny up and down with a tight face and searching eyes. "You look like you could kill someone," he said in a challenging tone of voice with fists clenched beside him.
Johnny rubbed his lips together and ran a hand over his chin as he thought for a moment. "Bodyguards kill to defend their bosses and themselves. Yes, I’ve killed people, but not in cold blood. It’s not in me to do that. Do you believe me?"
Sly’s eyes narrowed, and he finally nodded. "Yes, I believe you, but you still worked for the man."
"I know," Johnny admitted. "I got in when I was young and naïve, but it was too late to leave later when I got smart. If I had left, he’d kill my family and me. That’s the way it works."
"Frankie Junior is the biggest liar of them all!" Sly said loudly. "I thought he was my friend. He was just pretending."
"Actually, Frankie considers you to be a good friend," Johnny stated. "He talked about you a lot. You befriended him when he first came to town, and that was nice of you. He’d never been to school before and was nervous about it, but you helped him out and showed him the ropes."
"I knew it!" Sly grinned as he snapped his fingers. "He’d never been inside of a school. He acted so weird like he didn’t know the simplest things."
"Frankie has had a hard life. I know you’re mad at him, but he did the best that he could. Frank was mean to him, and it was a relief for him to be around such nice, normal people," said Johnny. "I hope that we can start over." Johnny held out his hand to Sly, and Sly hesitated then shook it. "Thank you," said Johnny as he patted Sly on the back and stood up. "We’ll be straight with you from now on."
Bobbie poked her head around the front door and said, "Sly, Luke’s on the phone for you."
~*~*~*~
"Uncle Luke?" Sly’s voice asked tentatively into the phone.
"Hello, Sylvester," replied Luke heartily. "So I finally hear your voice. I stopped by this afternoon to see if you wanted to go to dinner with me, but it was early, and you were at the library with Lucas."
"Yeah," agreed Sly. "But when am I going to see you again?"
Luke’s eyebrows rose as he considered Bobbie’s words about Sly’s insecurities. He didn’t feel comfortable with Sly being this way, not after all of the distance that they’d covered over the last two years. "I’m going to stop by tomorrow when you’re home from school, probably after dinner, and then we’ll go back home – to our home," he said firmly. "I miss my nephew."
"I miss you, too," Sly said wistfully. "How is Frankie?"
"He’s holding his own," stated Luke. "He’s got a long way to go, but we’re hoping he’ll start to get better soon." Luke rubbed his forehead as his heart sank. He was feeling mighty low about his son’s condition, but didn’t want Sly to worry. His nephew had enough on his shoulders as it was. He didn’t need this.
"When can I see him – when can I see Frankie?" Sly asked hesitantly. "He looked dead last time I saw him. I want to tell him that I hope he feels okay."
Luke shook his head at Sly’s fourteen-year-old bluntness. The kid wasn’t clueless. "They don’t allow children into the ICU," Luke explained. "But if Frankie improves in a day or two, then maybe I can sneak you in for a quick visit. How’s that?"
"Okay. Tell him that I said hi and that Emily says hi, too," Sly instructed.
"Will do," Luke agreed. "Is there anything else you want to talk about?"
"I was pretty upset at Frankie for lying to me, and at Johnny for lying, too, but he explained it, and I’m not so mad anymore," said Sly in a rapid tangle of words. "I said we could start over again."
"That’s mighty mature and big of you, Sly," Luke complimented. "Sometimes a man just needs to clear the slate and start over." Luke’s brow creased when he thought of Johnny. I’ve got to meet this jerk that’s had such an influence over my kids, he thought. Although he did make Sly feel better. Still, he’s a lying mobster. Frank’s goon.
~*~*~*~
"Guess who’s back in town?" Luke stated angrily as he walked over to Alexis. "The great Johnny!" Luke waved his hands in mock adoration. "Now he has Sly under his thumb as well. I just hung up the phone with him, and Sylvester said that he was mad at Frankie and Johnny for lying to him, but now he’s willing to start over."
Alexis removed her glasses as she picked up a goblet of wine. "And what’s wrong with that? It sounds like this Johnny is decent. Frankie likes him. Johnny can give us a lot of information about your son. Don’t you think it would be best to leave your judgments at the door and meet with him first? Make your decisions after you get to know him. Knowledge is power, you know. It doesn’t pay to go off the deep end immediately."
Luke’s face screwed up when he turned toward Alexis and sat down beside her on the couch. "He’s a mob bodyguard, for heaven’s sake. How many people has he killed? You don’t work for the mob if you’re Billy Graham. The man probably has a history that would make your eyes pop out if you read it."
"Regardless, Luke, work the situation to your own advantage. Face it. Your son IS a mobster. Are you going to shut him out, too, or will you help him to start a new life?"
Luke’s face turned red, and he shook his head angrily as he ran a hand over his face. "Dammit!" he yelled. "This never should have happened. If Frankie were my son for the last fourteen years, he never would have turned out this way. He’d be Lucky Spencer, for one, not Frank Smith, Junior." Luke’s lips curled when he said the name of his hated enemy. How am I going to deal with this Alexis? This afternoon I had to ask my son if he’d killed the man that he thought was his father."
"What did he say?" Alexis asked curiously.
"He got upset! He said no. But then…then I asked if he’d killed anyone else. The kid clams up and looks away – doesn’t deny it at all. So now my son is a murderer as well as who knows what? How do I relate to him?" Luke lay his forehead in his hand and fought off yet another round of tears. It was getting old, this emotional rollercoaster. Luke just wanted to collect his son, have him be normal and get back to the life that they all should have been leading. What if his son were someone that he couldn’t like or even tolerate? What then? Where were the boundaries and how could he possibly relate his own values to someone who was likely already warped and formed by Satan himself into his own image?
Alexis drew Luke closer to her and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. "You take it one day at a time," she whispered. "You do the best that you can, and you allow yourself to make mistakes without beating up on yourself. You rely on the people around you for support to help you get through. And, Luke, don’t underestimate those indomitable Spencer genes. They’re in there somewhere in that boy called Frankie Smith. Don’t discount blood and the desire of your son to have a relationship with you. People change. You’ll impart your values to him. He’ll learn."
Luke sighed deeply and separated from Alexis. "I really couldn’t ask for a better life partner," he said gratefully. "Not in a million years. But my heart is heavy, and I don’t know if I can relate to my son. I tried telling him today that I loved him, I always would no matter what. I meant that. But he totally rejected me, he looked away and wouldn’t speak."
Alexis reached out a hand and touched Luke’s arm. "Frank Smith, the only man that boy knew as a father, was just murdered right in front of his eyes. It’s entirely possible that he’s grieving. He has no one to talk to about it. Deep down, he may want your love, he might yearn for it. Frank wouldn’t win any contests for Father of the Year, not from what I’ve heard. But, give him time and a little space. Don’t expect a miracle reunion where everyone walks into the sunset holding hands and singing songs. This is going to take hard work. Is this any harder than raising him for fourteen years would have been? You would have experienced plenty of challenges and heartbreaks raising that boy. And, he wouldn’t turn out exactly as you’d want – maybe he’d reject nearly everything that you’d try to teach him. There are no guarantees in life, especially when it comes to children. Try to look for the good in your son, hone in on that and don’t let go."
~*~*~*~
Jason crept into the dorm room corridor once more, but this time he headed for the exit, rather than the bathroom. He was in search of a public payphone, one that Sonny couldn’t trace if Jason didn’t stay on the line for more than a minute. He was dressed in his normal clothing, so he rushed for the door to avoid detection as an unwanted male in an all-female dormitory.
Finally, Jason reached a pay phone on the end of the campus. It was past midnight, so he looked around cautiously to make sure no cops were on patrol. Talking to law enforcement was the last thing he wanted to do when he was this nervous.
The phone rang eight times, and finally Sonny picked it up. "Hello?" he asked with irritation since he was deeply engrossed in a bottle of fine red wine and a good book.
"Sonny, it’s Jason," came the tense reply. ‘Please don’t hang up. I need to tell you something."
"You’re boring me," Sonny intoned wearily. "I want you dead. Why would I want to talk to you?"
"Because I didn’t do it. I didn’t steal your merchandise. Frank Smith did," he rattled off quickly. "The news has been all over. I finally figured it out. Frank was trying to muscle into our territory. He set me up to get me out of the way. Then he’d move in after the organization was weakened."
Sonny laughed bitterly as he swirled the red wine in his crystal wineglass. He set the glass on a side table and smoothed out his silk smoking jacket. His eyes grew hard and emotionless. "How convenient," he said tensely. "The man is dead so now you can blame him for your betrayal. Tsk, tsk. You’re losing your touch, Jason. I had you pegged for being smarter than that."
"Sorel was hit!" Jason insisted. "Who do you think called that hit? Not me. Check around. I did. Somebody out of Chicago came here. I don’t know a soul in Chicago, you know that."
Sonny switched the phone to his other hand and placed it more firmly to his ear as his attention was captured by Jason’s words. "Go on," he intoned.
"Sonny, I finally found a photo of Frank Smith’s son. The kid, he’s missing, but I’ve seen him around Port Charles. I saw him in Kelly’s Diner more than once. What the hell would he be doing here if not to set me up? He was scouting for Frank. You gotta know that."
Sonny sighed and looked at his fingertips. "We’ll set up a meeting to discuss this," he said firmly. "A meeting on neutral ground, no funny business, just talk."
Jason sighed in relief and wiped the sweat from his brow as he leaned his back onto the glass phone booth. "Great," he replied. "That’s what I want."
~*~*~*~
Next morning…
Luke sipped from his large coffee as he walked down the hallway of the hospital. He’d gotten up bright and early that morning at 6AM to get to the hospital by 8AM. Luke sighed. His usual time to rise was after 9AM with his late night business keeping him up until early morning. Frankie was having his bone marrow aspiration later this morning, and he wanted to make sure that he was there in time to talk to the boy and calm any fears that he might have. As the hot coffee swirled around in his stomach and while he waited for the elevator doors to open, he recalled his visit with Frankie the day before. He’d wanted so badly to make a solid connection with the boy, but felt like he’d failed miserably. Frankie had been unwilling to discuss their father/son relationship in any shape or form. But he didn’t protest when I offered him protection or when I helped him adjust on the bed several times. He let me in a smidgen. I’ll just have to be patient and not push. But what in the world was that tantrum over Nikolas? What happened between those two boys? I’d love to talk to Nikolas about that to get his point of view. Whew. I wish Frankie and I could have gotten closer before the shit hits the fan. After the meeting with the FBI this morning, I think a tornado is going to descend on Port Charles, and we’ll all be in the eye of the storm.
"Hello ladies," Luke said jovially as he leaned against the pediatric ICU nurse’s station counter.
"Mr. Spencer," Rachel said conversationally as she raised her head. She recognized Luke from the previous days. Luke was glad that the nurses didn’t change constantly so Frankie wouldn’t be jarred by the flow of new people all the time.
"How’s my son?" Luke asked seriously as he took another sip of his coffee and looked intently at Rachel. "Did he have a good night?"
Rachel drew the kid’s chart and looked through it. Her brow creased as she read. "He’s having respiratory difficulties," she said plainly. "He’s not breathing efficiently enough to oxygenate his blood. It’s a combination of factors – his previous lung injury complicates his current injury. He only has half of his left lung intact – it places extra requirements on the damaged right lung. They called in a physician last night to evaluate the situation."
Luke’s face remained stony as he tried to process recent events. "So how is he now?" he asked softly.
"He’s wearing an oxygen mask. He’s been sleeping fairly well since about 4AM," she added.
"I’ll try not to disturb him, then," Luke said.
Rachel nodded. "He needs to rest."
~*~*~*~
Frankie’s room was filled with the sound of his raspy breathing as Luke took a seat near his son and laid his styrofoam coffee cup on the floor beside him. He ran a nervous hand behind his neck and bent it to the side, cracking it thoroughly as he cringed at the loud sound. Hopefully his creaky joints wouldn’t wake his son.
He doesn’t look too good, Luke thought as a dart of parental pain shot into his heart in reaction to his son’s gray complexion and strained expression. As Frankie’s chest rose up and down, he seemed to be having trouble drawing in each successive breath. He hesitated as if it hurt him to move his chest muscles. Is he going to die? Luke thought as his body filled with fear and dread. Frankie moaned and mumbled as he thrashed his arms back and forth in reaction to a bad dream. Luke instinctively reached out and smoothed the boy’s rumpled hospital gown. He pulled it back over a small portion of his son’s bared, bruised midriff. Luke smirked when he noticed that the gown was blue with scattered clowns and balloons covering its surface. Oh, I bet fashion plate Frankie looooves that garment, he thought wickedly, remembering the few times that he’d seen his son around Kelly’s always dressed to the nines in expensive clothing. Luke looked at Frankie’s messed up hair going in many directions. He always had it immaculately combed whenever I’d seen him before, Luke thought. The tubing and elastic bands of the oxygen mask tangled the boy’s hair, and Luke wondered if he’d feel better to be more groomed even if he were lying in the bed. Luke laughed to himself at the sight of Frankie’s sparse stubble covering only a minute portion of his chin, upper lip and cheeks. Not really enough to bother with shaving. He really is a boy still. He seems older because of the way he acts, well, sometimes. He can be a brat, too. Luke folded his hands and looked down at them while his thoughts wandered.
Luke jumped in his seat and said, "Oh," when he looked over at Frankie and saw a pair of blue eyes staring intensely in his direction. "Hi," said Frankie, who never let up on his inspection of the man in his view. Frankie had been watching Luke for a minute, surprised to see the man in his room so early in the morning. He’d been bothered by constant bad dreams and was glad to see the tall, capable man nearby. It scared him somehow to be left alone with all of the machinery and his pain-filled body. Frankie hadn’t been sure if Luke would be back, but apparently his bad temper and sullen disposition weren’t going to keep him away.
"Hi," said Luke, chuckling as he picked up his cup of coffee and took another sip. "Coffee?" Luke offered happily as he raised the cup. Frankie laughed. He lifted the mask, and said breathily, "Only if it’s black. I hate dat fake cream."
Luke shook his head. "A man after my own heart," he replied. "So what’s your favorite breakfast?" Luke inquired.
"Pancakes, blueberry," said Frankie through his oxygen mask, the plastic making his voice sound tinny.
Luke nodded seriously. "And your favorite color?"
"Blue," Frankie replied with a smile. "What about you?"
"Oh, red, I guess," said Luke. "What’s your best memory from when you were a kid?"
Frankie’s forehead creased. "Hmm…" he said thoughtfully. "I guess … watching dat Cookie Monster at Mrs. DeMarco’s. All us kids used ta go, "Cooookie, cooookie," and beat our hands on da floor until she’d give us some. Mrs. DeMarco always was bakin’ cookies. I liked dat. Yeah." Frankie settled his head into his pillow and smiled with the memories.
Luke noted that Frankie’s best memory wasn’t with Frank. "Who’s Mrs. DeMarco?" he asked. "Your babysitter?"
"Nah." Frankie moved is head back and forth on the pillow. "Her husband was da employee, so dey’d drop me off when Frank wasn’t home."
"So you were there lots," Luke encouraged.
Frankie nodded. "Yeah, dere and other places, but dere da most I guess. I missed ‘em." Frankie’s eyes looked sad. "I got bodyguards after da kidnapping. No more families."
Luke swallowed hard as a lump rose in his throat. Poor kid.
"So that’s why you don’t like hospitals – you’ve been there before," Luke commented carefully. He remembered the child psychologist telling him that apparently Frankie had been injured seriously and traumatized by it when he was ten.
Frankie removed his mask as his eyes pleaded with Luke. "I don’t wanna die," he said plaintively. "I don’t feel good. I’m scared I’m not gonna wake up no more."
"That’s why we have you here, all hooked up," Luke said lightly as he tapped Frankie’s IV’s and motioned toward the machines beside the bed. "They’re doing everything they can to help you."
Frankie’s eyes filled with tears. "Every time dey do something to me, it hurts. I don’t want dat test. I’m tired of hurting."
Luke rubbed Frankie’s arm, surprised that the boy didn’t protest his touch. "I know. But it will be all over in about fifteen minutes. With that information, the doctors can start treating you, so you can get better. Do you want me to stay here with you?" Luke’s earnest, sincere eyes met Frankie’s frightened ones.
"Okay," the boy agreed with a small voice. He reached up and placed the oxygen mask over his face again and relaxed with relief to receive the oxygen. He coughed and placed a hand on his chest. Luke noticed that his hand shook slightly.
"Why don’t I hold your hand, and you can close your eyes to sleep some more," he suggested. "It might help you to relax." Frankie turned away his face, but stuck out his hand slightly and sighed. Luke wrapped his son’s much smaller, softer hand into his own large, callused hand, surrounding his son with his own warmth.
~*~*~*~
Frankie’s eyes opened widely, and he shrank back into the bed, removing his hand from Luke’s as the medical personnel filed into his room with a cart full of supplies. There was a nurse, a technician, and a physician, and Frankie’s body seemed to grow smaller by the moment as he watched them fearfully.
"He’s nervous," Luke offered. "I’m staying here to help calm him."
The nurse took a look at Frankie as she recorded his vitals. She nodded. "It won’t take long," she said reassuringly.
The physician began explaining to Luke and Frankie what he was going to do, but Frankie’s heart was racing, and his mind was fuzzy with fear, so he tuned him out. "Hold his hand and his shoulder," the physician said helpfully to Luke. "He needs to remain still. We’ll have him on his side since he has so much tubing. We don’t want to interfere with that." The physician and the technician rolled Frankie onto his side, and the boy flinched when he felt the cold alcohol on his hip. "This might hurt, but it’ll be over quickly," said the physician. Frankie tensed up at the sharp sting of the local anesthetic. He looked up at Luke who took his hand. Frankie gripped the older man’s hand tightly as his palm began sweating. He felt a dull sensation as the aspiration needle entered his flesh, but his face reflected his agony when the needle entered his bone. He grew pale and squeezed Luke’s hand with a death grip. Luke placed a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. When they began aspirating the bone marrow, Frankie lost it and cried out loudly, taking in rapid breaths and shaking. Luke held him down firmly with one hand and said, "That’s the worst. You’re getting through this. Just a minute more." Finally, after several long minutes, the physician said, "Got it," and the needle was withdrawn. "Put a pressure pad on that," the physician instructed. "He’s a bleeder. We’re going to place you on your back so that the pressure will help control any bleeding from the procedure," the physician said to Frankie. "Try not to move for an hour or two and tell a nurse if you experience more pain."
Frankie was laid gently onto his back, and he broke out into sobs from the sheer stress of it all. The medical personnel were packing up and preparing to leave, so Luke sat down on the side of his son’s elevated bed and bent over to give him a hug. Frankie’s arms went around Luke, and he placed the side of his face on his shoulder, still sobbing his heart out. Luke patted him on the back gently and stroked his hair several times, but the boy continued to sob and cling to Luke. I think this might be about more than just the medical procedure, Luke thought as he continued to hold his son. When he noticed that Frankie’s sobs became less desperate, Luke gently lowered him back to the bed. "Don’t move too much," he said, holding and patting Frankie’s hand. Frankie closed his eyes and continued crying while Luke stayed with him. After nearly ten minutes, Luke thought of something to divert the boy’s attention and make him feel more empowered.
"I have that meeting this morning with the FBI," stated Luke. "I’m kind of nervous. Do you have any pointers for me?"
Frankie stopped crying almost immediately and began wiping the tears from his face as Luke handed him a tissue. Frankie wiped his face and nose off and then looked at Luke with narrowed eyes. "Yeah," he said dangerously. "You need a plan Don’t go in dere without knowing what you want to happen." Frankie relaxed as his mind roamed around, trying to think of an angle. "Deflection. Make ‘em think about something else. You’re gonna talk about da kidnapping a long time ago? Focus on dat – and da poor baby." Frankie laughed evilly. "You don’t gotta be stupid, but don’t let ‘em know you’re smart, either. Dey like to think dey’re superior. Let ‘em. You get what you want. Paint da kid as a victim," Frankie instructed, referring to himself in the third person. "He didn’t know what Frank was doin.’ Nah. Give ‘em another case to solve to make ‘em feel good and look good to da superiors. Den, who knows? Dey might back off of da other stuff. If dey get too close, den direct ‘em somewhere else. Ask questions, give ‘em a piece of juicy info. Okay?"
Frankie’s intense blue eyes met Luke’s startled ones. Frankie had covered every base that Alexis had mentioned and provided even more food for thought. "What about evidence?" Luke questioned. "Are we going to have some hard facts staring us in the face?"
Frankie shook his head. "Not much," he said. "Mostly people saying stuff. We can take care of dat – Johnny and me." Frankie smiled, but his eyes remained steely. "I got da goods, da information in a safe place. I know, but not dem. Too bad for da FBI! I think I got my act down, I’m ready for ‘em. Just don’t give me away if you’re nearby. I’ll be somebody else. Understand?"
Luke nodded slowly. "So I play the grieved parent card, wanting answers from fourteen years ago. I’m not too concerned about today. Right?"
Frankie nodded sagely. "Gotcha."
Luke sighed. "That’s not too far from the truth, you know."
Frankie’s eyes looked sad, and he turned away as he nibbled on his lower lip and then released it. "You’ll do okay," he encouraged Luke. "Oh!" he said. "One last thing. Don’t ever refer to me as Frankie with da FBI. Only by dat legal name. Deflection, remember?"
Luke nodded. "I’ll be back in about two hours," he said. "Get some rest. Do you want me to pick anything up for you when I’m out?"
"How ‘bout a new wardrobe?" Frankie asked sarcastically as he pulled at his gown and made a face at the sight of the clowns.