Chapter Thirty-Two
"I want to see my son," Luke said grimly as he ran a hand over his perspiring forehead and blinked.
"Are you sure you feel up to it, Mr. Spencer? You took quite a dive a few minutes earlier," said the ICU nurse with a smile.
"Oh, right, kick a man when he’s down," Luke teased back. He laughed. "I’m all right. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was broadsided, hit upside the head with that scene." Luke rose to his feet and placed a hand over his nauseous, rolling stomach. "Let’s go," he said with determination.
~*~*~*~
When Luke entered Frankie’s ICU room for the second time in the last hour, he was surprised to see his son lying on a gurney, moderately cleaned up and covered to the chest with a white sheet and blanket. Two janitors were working to clean up the room. Luke’s eyes scanned the area and took in the pile of stripped sheets that were redder than white and the latex gloves covering the hands of everyone cleaning up the bed, floor and monitoring equipment. The mop on the floor swirled around a reddish mixture of cleaning fluid and blood.
Luke walked up to the gurney and looked down at his son. Frankie’s skin had been cleaned off, and he was in a new gown, but his hair was streaked with dried blood in several places. His complexion was as pale as when he had initially been brought into the Emergency Room, and Luke noticed how horribly the boy’s bruises contrasted with the whiteness of his skin. Frankie’s nose was packed with gauze, but Luke could tell that he was still bleeding, and it seemed like he was choking when he tried to breathe through his mouth.
"Frankie, it’s Luke," Luke said in a normal voice. Frankie’s eyelids fluttered and opened as slits. Luke bent closer so that Frankie could see his face, and he stroked his son’s cheek. "Hey, we’ve got to stop meeting like this," Luke joked. Frankie stared vacantly as if he didn’t recognize his father, but his cheek twitched, and Luke interpreted that as a reaction to his lame sense of humor.
"What’s happening?" Luke asked the nurse that stood beside the gurney. He reached out to rest his hand on his son’s shoulder to let the boy know that he was still there.
"He’s headed to surgery," the nurse stated as her eyes flickered over Frankie’s still form. "They packed his nose twice, but he’s still hemorrhaging. He won’t be in surgery long – it’s a fairly simple procedure to cauterize an artery."
"Why did this happen to my son?" Luke asked curiously.
"Sometimes the nasal tissues dry out and become irritated if a patient is receiving oxygen," she explained. "From his bruising it looks like he might have received a blow to the head several days ago. His bleeding disorder complicated matters when they couldn’t stem the flow. His platelet count is still dangerously low. The hematologist was here earlier and ordered some medications. He said he’d talk to you tomorrow morning."
Great, Luke thought. Never have a medical emergency after dinnertime. "Is he going to be okay without all of his equipment hooked up?" Luke questioned worriedly. Frankie was still connected to his IV’s and catheters, but was disconnected to the cardiac monitor and other devices.
"He’s only been on the gurney for about ten minutes. They’ll reconnect him and monitor him during surgery, which is scheduled soon. He’ll be going down in about five minutes."
"Mmmph."
Luke turned toward his son, who feebly kicked his foot. It seemed to Luke that Frankie didn’t like being talked about as if he weren’t there. "Sorry, buddy," he said as he stroked his son’s blood-stiffened hair. "I wanted to ask the nurse a few questions. "I’m right here." Luke patted down his son’s side. "I’d hold your hand, but it’s lost in here somewhere. Did Cookie Monster steal your hand and mistake it for a cookie?"
Frankie’s nearly closed eyes crinkled at the corners as his mouth turned up slightly. "Cooo…kee," he choked out in a barely audible, strained voice.
~*~*~*~
Luke hung around Frankie’s room for a minute after his son was wheeled away. One janitor bent down to pick up the Cookie Monster puppet and walked over to the biohazard trash receptacle.
"Wait," Luke said loudly. He walked over to the janitor and held out his hand. "I’ll take that. It’s important to my son. He’ll look for it when he returns."
"It has a lot of blood on it," the janitor commented skeptically.
"That doesn’t bother me. I’ll clean it off myself," Luke answered firmly.
"Okay," the janitor shrugged as he handed it to Luke.
~*~*~*~
Luke ran a steady stream of cold water in the men’s restroom sink. The bright blue fur of the Cookie Monster puppet darkened to a midnight blue as it completely filled with moisture, and soon the stream of water turned from red to pink to clear. Luke carefully wiped off the large eyeballs of the toy and squeezed out another measure of liquid soap, frothing it up into a foamy, cleansing lather. After spending fifteen minutes meticulously washing off and rinsing the puppet, Luke was satisfied with the results. He squeezed out the bulk of the water from the fur material and laughed when the big eyeballs bounced and rolled at him. He placed his hand inside of the puppet and turned on the hand dryer, moving the puppet’s arms back and forth to try to dry it off.
"Ooooo, I like taking a swim," Luke mimicked in his best Cookie Monster voice that echoed around the hard tile surfaces of the room. He shook the puppet’s head. "But no cookies in the ocean – too many fishies." He continued to talk for the puppet for the next ten minutes as he repeatedly pressed the on button for the hand dryer. "Look at me, how love-leee," he growled as his fingers fluffed the top of its head. "I like my new hairdo, why…" Luke was interrupted by a man who entered the restroom and gave Luke a strange look and a wide berth. Luke shrugged. "We’re not appreciated," Luke whispered to the crazed looking toy.
~*~*~*~
Felicia saw the gurney being wheeled from ICU 5, and she slipped around the corner to remain undetected as she watched it go by. She glanced up and down the hallway, and seeing no one else around, she walked up to the elevator and smiled at the nurse. "I’m going down, too," she said with a bright smile. Her eyes crept down to the face of the boy lying still on his back. Her heart skipped a beat, and she frowned. It was Frankie – at least it looked like him – sort of. This boy looked half dead with his pale skin, bleeding nose and face covered with bruises. But beneath all of that, she recognized him. Whatever happened to him? she wondered. And why isn’t he registered under his name?
The elevator stopped at the second floor, and Felicia walked out behind the gurney. She stood in the hallway, looking at the signs on the wall. The one sign pointed toward surgery, the direction that Frankie was headed. Felicia frowned again and tapped her lip with an index finger while she puzzled over the situation. That boy looked awfully sick. Maxie isn’t going to like this. I’m going back upstairs to snoop around some more.
~*~*~*~
Luke walked into Frankie’s now pristine ICU room. He lay the toy beside the clean pillow on the newly made up yet empty bed and turned to leave the room.
~*~*~*~
Felicia positioned herself next to a large potted plant and watched the doorway to ICU 5. She was hoping to see if Frankie had any visitors and took in a deep breath when she saw Luke Spencer exiting from the room. Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior, she thought. That’s who was listed for ICU 5. I don’t understand. How strange. Could Frankie be Luke’s son? I need to talk to Mac about this. Maybe he’ll have some answers.
~*~*~*~
Sonny’s Penthouse
"What’s that on your lip?" Sonny asked with a frown as he ran a finger over his own lips and pointed at Jason. Jason rubbed his lips with his fingers and looked down at the reddish smudge as he blushed. Damn, he thought. Forgot to wipe that off before I left the dorm. "Lip protection. My lips are chapped. It makes them seem sort of red," he explained sheepishly.
Sonny nodded with a smile. "I don’t know if I’d be comfortable having a number two man that wears lipstick," he chuckled as he shook his head. He reached for a crystal container and poured himself a brandy. "Do you want some?" he offered Jason. Jason shook his head no. Sonny took a sip of his brandy and stared hard at his right hand man. "I’m sorry I doubted you," he said sincerely. "I apologize. I should have known something was up. Smith was being too quiet. He’s usually up to something, trying to steal pieces of my territory. This time he meant business. He was going in for the kill." Sonny and Jason had mended their relationship after a ten minute conversation at an abandoned warehouse hours earlier. Jason had outlined his theories concerning Frank and Frankie Smith’s activities - namely, trying to break up their winning team in order to weaken Corinthos’ organization so they could move in without an upfront confrontation, the equivalent of a swift knife to the throat in the middle of the night while asleep.
"So you think the Smith kid made it off of the estate alive?" Sonny questioned.
Jason nodded. "The FBI is tracking him, and they know where he is. I’m positive about that. Right now, they’re waiting for something, but what I don’t know. I would have thought they’d arrest him immediately after he lost Frank’s protection."
"How dangerous is this kid?" Sonny asked. "He’s only fifteen? What’s up with that?"
"Frank’s been training him all his life," Jason confirmed. "He’s plenty dangerous. He was recently installed as Frank’s number two man. What Frank knew this Frankie knows, too. He’s deadly. A chip off the old block. My contact at the FBI told me his file was unbelievably thick. The kid’s done it all. Now how well Frank was able to cover their tracks or pay people off, who knows? The FBI is probably more of a threat to him than we are."
"Will he lay low?" Sonny inquired.
"Not likely," replied Jason. "You recall Frank Smith’s ego. The kid’s the same way. He doesn’t walk without swaggering. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he didn’t have the business."
"And you saw him in Kelly’s Diner?" asked Sonny, looking puzzled. "What was he doing there?"
"Lived there – under the cover name of Frankie DeMarco. Lived there with his bodyguard Johnny. Kid goes to school at PCHS, too."
Sonny laughed delightedly. "I wonder how many stupid teachers he offed?"
"None, so far," Jason chuckled. "He’s been a normal student, gets good grades."
"How do you know all of this?" Sonny asked incredulously. "I mean, I pay you to access information, but this is…wow."
"I received a lot of information from Robin and my sister Emily," Jason replied.
"What?" Sonny barked.
"It seems our little Frankie is leading quite a normal life here in Port Charles," said Jason. "He’s dating Robin’s little sister, Maxie Jones."
"Oh my God," Sonny breathed as he ran a hand through his carefully gelled curly black locks. "Robin was here a few days ago asking me if I knew any teenaged mobsters living on the East Coast. I thought about Frank Smith, Junior, but never made the firm connection. She said that her sister was dating someone who was misrepresenting himself as being from Philadelphia, but she thought that he was a real tough guy with a different accent."
"Can you imagine the balls on the kid if he’s dating the police commissioner’s stepdaughter?" Jason smirked. "That’s why I told you, look out."
Sonny laughed. "I mean, I can see him sitting on the Scorpio couch answering fifty questions from Mr. Police Commissioner." His face turned more serious. "What’s this about your sister knowing him?"
Jason nodded and changed his stance, rubbing a hand over his crewcut. "When I thought that Frank Junior was living in Port Charles, I asked her if she knew of any Frankies that were new to school. I hit the jackpot. My baby sis eats lunch with him every day in school."
Sonny’s eyes bugged. "And, and," he prompted with an impatient wave of his hand.
"She says he’s cute, has the best tush in Port Charles," Jason laughed.
Sonny shook his head. "Uh, any relevant information?"
"Sure," Jason replied. "His best friend is Sly Eckert, fourteen year old nephew of a Luke Spencer who owns a bar in town. Sly of course is Emily’s current love interest."
Sonny rolled his eyes. "I’m finding out a lot more about the teen dating scene here than I want to know, Jason."
Jason continued. "Our Frankie has a volatile temperament – up and happy one minute, down and upset the next. Let’s see, he beat up several boys in gym, pointed a gun in another kid’s face, has numerous gunshot scars on him, and is totally crazy about Maxie Jones. He and this Sly were fighting over her for a brief time, but they patched things up. Oh, and he hasn’t been back to school since spring break. This Sly kid told Emily that Frankie was sick, but he didn’t elaborate."
Sonny waved his hand in the air. "So does Emily like him – other than admiring his tush that is?"
Jason laughed. "She says he’s sensitive about not having a mother. She seems to like him. Her tone of voice was happy enough when she talked about him."
"I wonder what that ‘being sick’ thing is about? Do you think that fourteen year old knows something? Is he keeping secrets for this Frankie Smith?"
"I don’t know. I’ve been checking area hospitals from New York to New Jersey for any kids listed as Frankie DeMarco or Frank Smith, but no dice. Can’t find a trace of him."
"We’re missing a very important piece of the puzzle," Sonny intoned.
"I agree," stated Jason. "But don’t’ worry, we’ll find him."
"Question is, what do we do with him?" Sonny asked as his face creased into a wicked smile.
~*~*~*~
"Oh, Robin, look, look," Maxie said excitedly as she entered the door and ran to the living room. "I just got back from Kelly’s, and Ruby Spencer had a letter for me – from Frankie. Maxie sat down next to Robin and positively glowed with happiness. "I haven’t opened it yet. I’m too excited. I think I ran all the way home!"
Robin noted Maxie’s joy and gave her a hug, as it was certainly infectious. "Come on, come on," she encouraged. "You have to read it."
Maxie opened the envelope and pulled out the plain card. Her lips turned up and she laughed as she read. "He wants to go on a date as soon as he’s out of the hospital. And he said he might sing a song for me. He signed it ‘Yours Truly.’ Oh, that’s so old-fashioned and sweet. I like that. He must be feeling better if he’s writing me a letter," she exclaimed. She handed the card to Robin for her to read.
"I wonder why he only signs his first name?" she wondered out loud.
"Robin, you’re too analytical," Maxie scolded. "It doesn’t mean anything."
Robin shrugged. "I can’t help it. It must be some trait that I inherited from my parents."
"There’s a note for Georgie, too," Maxie stated. "I’m dying to open it up, but it’s marked Top Secret, just like Georgie’s envelope was."
"I’ll take that," a little girl’s voice ordered. Georgie stood in front of Maxie with her hand extended.
"Where did you come from?" Maxie asked, laughing nervously. "You weren’t there a second ago."
"I know," Georgie smirked as she placed her hands on her hips. "The letter, please."
~*~*~*~
Mac felt weary as he trudged up to the front door of his house. It had been a long, hard day, and this latest piece of information had done nothing to improve it. He’d almost dreaded coming home with this news.
"Felicia," he called out as he opened the door and crossed the threshold.
Felicia apparently had been waiting right by the door for him, and she cried, "Mac!"
"Boy have I got something to tell…" Mac and Felicia looked at each other with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. "You," they both said as they completed the same sentence that they’d simultaneously spoken.
~*~*~*~
A tall, broadly built, suited man walked boldly into the small, out of the way Italian restaurant and swung himself into a circular booth beside a man dressed all in black. The man in black was spearing a piece of fried calamari and rubbing it into some marinara sauce.
"What’s up, Butch?" he asked with a monotone voice.
"We spotted Johnny," the man whispered as his eyes traveled around the room. "He was in New York City this afternoon at some financial institution, making a transaction. He was driving Frankie’s beamer, too. I had a man follow him back to Port Charles, New York."
The man in black smiled evilly, causing the scar beside his mouth to stand out whitely against his light tan skin. "The mission," he stated firmly with a nod of his head.
"Yeah," said Butch. "Mr. Manetti, what should we do now?"
The man in black slowly chewed his calamari while his face remained blank. He began cutting another piece and said, "Keep a tail on Johnny. He’ll lead us to the kid, wherever he’s holed up."
"Then what?" Butch asked eagerly.
"Then we complete our coup," replied Manetti.
~*~*~*~
"Barbara Jean," Luke said tiredly. "I have news."
"How’s Frankie?" Bobbie asked worriedly. "Sly walked in the door two hours ago and said there was an emergency at the hospital and that’s why he was back. He didn’t elaborate any further and marched back to his room and slammed the door shut."
"Frankie had another bleeding episode," Luke explained. "He had a serious nosebleed. They operated to cauterize an artery. They’re not one hundred percent sure why it happened."
"Is he going to be all right?"
"Yeah," Luke replied as he tiredly rubbed his hair and yawned. "He’s in Recovery now. They said I could see him in a minute, but I thought I’d call you first."
"Thanks for the update, Luke," Bobbie replied. "I’m sorry he’s having so much trouble, though."
"Me, too," said Luke. "I want him whole and happy and living at home. Speaking of which, can I talk to Sly for a minute?" Luke heard some noise in the background, the high voice of Lucas and Bobbie’s murmured reply.
"That was Lucas," she said. "He came to tell me that he heard Sly crying in the bedroom. He knocked, but Sly yelled for him to go away. I’d better go see what that’s about. You can talk to him later."
"Thanks, Barbara Jean," replied Luke. "For everything. I mean it. Go comfort the kid. I’ll try again tomorrow. Tell him I love him and that I’m sorry it didn’t work out for me to take him home tonight."
~*~*~*~
Alexis walked up to Luke as he hung up the phone. "Hi honey," she said softly. "How’s Frankie?"
"He’s in Recovery. He’s going to be okay," Luke replied with another yawn. "Sorry," he said. "But this has been the day from hell. I’m totally beat."
"Let’s go sit down, then," said Alexis. After they were seated, Alexis turned serious. "Luke, I don’t want you to think that I’m unfeeling, but I have my attorney hat on now."
Luke’s blue eyes sought out his fiancée’s intense brown ones. "What?" he asked.
Alexis pulled a digital camera out of her purse. "Luke, we need photos. We need documentation to help us fight the Feds. We need to take some photos of Frankie’s injuries. Now might be the best time to do it if he’s unconscious. He seems very proud. I don’t think he’ll appreciate this, but it’s for his own good."
"Good grief, Alexis," Luke stated as he shook his head. "I don’t know about this. It kind of violates his privacy."
"Any more than the violation he’ll receive if he’s sent to prison?" Alexis questioned firmly.
Luke’s face set hard. "When you put it that way," he said. "I see your point. Take that with you when they say we can see him."
~*~*~*~
Sly lay on his stomach on top of his bed, his large tennis shoes kicked off to the floor and his hands gripping the pillow underneath his head. His longish blond hair scattered across the pillowcase, giving him an angelic look that didn’t complement his tortured feelings. A casual observer might say that the boy was simply suffering from an overload of stress, a combination of an exciting week’s vacation, his uncle’s impending marriage and his friend’s illness. But, it was more than that. It was as if the shadow of pain that marred his former life was back to haunt him. He couldn’t stop thinking about how Frank Smith had killed most of his family, his father in particular, and that now he was doing it again.
Frank Smith had stolen away the boy that was his cousin, and now he might die because of the mob. But the effects of Frankie himself were crowding in on Sly. Sly punched the pillow several times and sobbed as he turned his head away from the soft surface so he could breathe better. He felt like he couldn’t win. Everything that he tried, he failed at miserably. He sometimes wondered if he’d ever had his dad’s full attention. He knew deep down that Bill had loved him, but it didn’t feel that way very often.
*** "Dad, can we do something this weekend, like go to the park?" an eleven year old Sly asked shyly.
"Sorry, Sly, I have to work this weekend. I’m especially busy right now trying to start this new business while I’m holding down my regular job."
"Well, can you work at home?" Sly asked hesitantly. "I’m by myself a lot, and I’d like the company. Being with my dad, I mean."
Bill removed his glasses and looked into his son’s hurt eyes. "I could take you to work with me," he said. "There aren’t too many people around on the weekends. If you promise to be good and read a book so that you don’t disturb my concentration, it could work out."
Sly looked disappointed, and his face reddened with frustration. "Don’t you want to spend any time with me?" his small voice inquired, near the edge of tears.
Bill rose from his chair and gave his son a big hug. "Of course I want to be with you. But, I have to work hard to support us, son. You understand that. I’ll tell you what. I’ll take you out for an ice cream after dinner tomorrow night. How’s that?"
"Yeah, that’d be nice," Sly replied reluctantly. He stayed rooted in the same spot in front of his father after Bill released him from the hug and sat back down to read his newspaper. Bill flipped through the pages, became engrossed in the stories and ignored Sly who continued to stand there. Finally, Sly gave up with a sigh and padded into the family room to watch television. ***
Sly wiped the stream of tears from his cheeks with the back of one hand. Bill and Sly hadn’t done much together at all over the next year – an occasional ice cream treat, mainly. Bill had shown up at Sly’s school from time to time to take in a school play or other performance, but that was it. One year later he was dead, and father and son would never have the opportunity again to connect in a special way. No baseball games, rides in the park, or bonding moments over doing home repairs together. It was all gone in a tidal wave of bloodshed.
Sly had thought that a new family with Luke and Alexis might be nice. He liked Alexis. She took the time to talk to him like a real person, not some little kid. And, Sly had come to really like Luke a lot. In fact, he had secretly wished lately that Luke were his father, not his uncle. He’d felt a twinge of guilt over that, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted a family desperately and a definitive place of his own within that family. Now it was all unraveling apart at the seams. Baby Lucky was back. Sly reflected that he should be happy, but all he could feel was the deep sense of loss that rose in his bones every time he thought about the fact that Luke had a son, and now the son was back. Sly felt totally displaced, and he didn’t think he could take much more of being shoved off to another family member, not when it had been the dynamic that he and Bill had shared, one that had hurt him deeply. He remembered the times that Bill had dropped him off at his other aunt’s house with a packed suitcase because Bill was going out of town or didn’t want the distraction of taking care of his son. Sly felt like he was back to square one, and he didn’t know if he had the energy that it would take to make it to square two.
He wished that he were grown up. Then he’d be by himself where no one could ever hurt him again. He’d have an apartment somewhere and stay there alone. If no one wanted him, then fine. At least he’d have his own door to close in their faces.
Sly jumped when he heard the gentle knock on his door. "Go away Lucas," he yelled with a stuffed up nose.
"It’s Aunt Bobbie."
Sly turned his back to the door, hoping that she’d take the hint and go away. He gripped the pillow tighter and turned his face so that his sobs wouldn’t be heard.
Bobbie knocked again. "Sly, I want to talk to you for a minute," she stated firmly. She waited for a few seconds, and when there was still no answer or movement from the room, she said, "I’m going to open the door if you don’t." She waited and then opened the door slowly.
Bobbie saw Sly curled up on his side with his back shaking from crying. She sat down on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on his back. "Why don’t you tell me what this is all about," she suggested softly. Sly shook his head no. "Are you upset because Luke dropped you off again?" she asked. When Sly made no movement or reply, Bobbie guessed that she’d hit the jackpot.
"Honey, I just spoke to your uncle on the phone," she said. "He told me to tell you that he loved you, and he’s sorry he couldn’t take you home with him tonight."
Sly abruptly pulled away from Bobbie and scooted to the other edge of the bed, as far away as he could get. He sat up stiffly with his back turned to his aunt and his shoulders slumped. "Couldn’t or wouldn’t?" he retorted angrily.
"Sly, he couldn’t," Bobbie replied. "There was another emergency with Frankie at the hospital. He had surgery. They needed Luke to be there."
Sly shrugged. "So is he going to die like everyone else?"
Bobbie frowned at her nephew’s reply. "I don’t understand," she said. "What do you mean ‘like everyone else’?"
Sly shook his head. "Frank Smith kills everybody."
"Honey, Frank Smith is dead. He won’t be killing anyone else – ever again," stated Bobbie firmly. "I know you’re worried about Frankie, but Luke said that he made it through surgery. He had a serious nosebleed and lost a lot of blood."
Sly remained silent and still on the bed. "Can I give you a hug?" Bobbie asked. "You seem like you need one."
"No," Sly replied shortly.
"Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?"
"No."
Bobbie sighed deeply. "You can stay in here if you want to," she said. "But I’d rather you talk to me. You know that we can talk about anything. You just ask me whenever you want." She placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder from behind. "I love you," she whispered. "Don’t forget that."
Sly sniffed loudly and didn’t reply as his aunt rose from the bed and gently shut the door.
~*~*~*~
Luke and Alexis were directed into the Recovery room, which was private only in that patients were separated from one another by thick, striped hanging curtains. There were two other patients in the room, and the nurse led them to the correct bed.
A lump formed in Luke’s throat when he saw Frankie hooked back up to a mechanical respirator. "Why the breathing machine?" he asked the nurse tensely.
"That’s standard for all patients receiving surgery under general anesthesia," she replied. She looked through his chart. "For your son, though, the orders are to keep him on the respirator overnight."
Luke blinked back his tears and nodded. He and Alexis walked beside the reclining boy - Luke on one side and Alexis on another. "He’s still pale, but not as bad as before," Luke commented as he closely surveyed his son’s face. Alexis glanced at the unit of blood that was transfusing into Frankie’s veins.
"He seems so young lying here like this," she commented. "Not a day over twelve." Luke nodded.
"I want that hair cut off," Luke declared. "They seem to keep him clean otherwise, but they always overlook the hair. Look at it. It’s streaked with blood. It looks terrible." Frankie’s head was turned to the side, and Luke picked up a longish stray piece that trailed down the boy’s neck. "I’m going to see if we can have a hospital barber come in tomorrow and cut this dark stuff off. He’ll look better and maybe feel better with it gone. They don’t maintain it well in this hospital anyway."
Alexis didn’t say anything as she was aware that Luke was using this rant to deflect from his true feelings of fear and helplessness over his son’s failing condition.
Alexis reached into her purse as she raised her eyebrows to silently communicate with Luke. She pointed to the digicam and then to Frankie. Luke glanced around and saw that no one was nearby for the moment, so he nodded. Alexis bent down and took several shots of Frankie’s face – one close-up to show the detail of bruises and his black eye, and another with the multiple IV’s and machines nearby for effect. She pointed to his body, and Luke pulled down the sheet and eased his son’s gown to the side so that his hip and leg were bared without sacrificing his dignity. Alexis winced when she saw how swollen that area looked, and it was almost totally black from the severe bruising. He looks like a truck hit him, she thought. Luke eased the gown so that his abdominal injuries and tubes were exposed. "Let’s get his chest, and then that’s enough," Alexis whispered. Luke untied Frankie’s gown at the neck and removed it from his shoulder so that his scars, sutures and tubing were visible. A shiver went up his spine as he recalled that Frankie had walked around with these wounds for several days. Alexis took one more shot of Frankie from head to toe with his neck at an angle. He looked so lifeless and ill lying there like that, surrounded by white, and she wanted to record his inability to be interrogated by the FBI or anyone else for that matter.
Luke and Alexis stayed with Frankie for several more minutes until the nurse came back and said that they were transporting him to his ICU room. "Why don’t you go home and rest tonight," she suggested. "He won’t be waking up tonight and maybe not tomorrow morning either."
~*~*~*~
Alexis loaded her photos onto her computer and bit her lip as she surveyed them. Tears built up in her eyes as she looked at a boy who essentially had been horribly abused by the man that he had called father. Whether Frank Smith had kicked the boy in the kidney or had conducted business deals that got his son shot and made him run for his life, the man was responsible for all of it as far as she was concerned. These photos would help make her case.
Luke came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders as he bent to kiss the top of her head. "Thank you for trying so hard for my son," he said simply.
"I’m going to be a step-mama," Alexis replied. "I am woman, hear me roar."
"I think I’ve heard that from you on occasion," Luke teased. He was rewarded by a backward slap from Alexis.
Alexis removed her glasses and turned toward Luke with a quizzical look. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," stated Luke. "What’s up?"
Alexis sighed and looked up toward the ceiling. "It’s like this," she said. "You already have a petition in the Family Court, right? For custody of Frankie." Luke nodded. "Why not go one step further?" she asked. "Why not adopt Sly as your son?"
Luke looked surprised and stepped back. "I don’t know," he said. "I assumed Sly was happy with our arrangement. He remembers his father. He misses him."
"But Bill is gone," Alexis explained. "And now with Frankie being your biological son, don’t you think this might affect him negatively?"
"It has," Luke asserted.
Alexis waved a hand in the air. "This whole marriage, white picket fence deal is on the table. Why don’t we go all the way, and do it right? Frankie has a mother, but Sly doesn’t. Let’s get married and adopt him together. We can at least approach the boy about it and see what he thinks."
Luke still looked uneasy. "I haven’t thought about it," he protested. "Let me sleep on it. I don’t want to traumatize the boy."
"He’s crazy about you," Alexis insisted. "Don’t let too much time go by or you’ll miss your opportunity. The right time might be now."