Chapter Thirty-Seven

Next day…

Johnny packed up his small suitcase with the precision of a man that was used to traveling and leaving town quickly. He rapidly surveyed the small, decrepit hotel room that fell in neglected shambles around him, and he frowned as he massaged his lower back, which ached from the lumpy mattress that must have been over twenty years old. This motel is a pit, he thought. I know I’m hiding out, but I can do better than this next time. I’d be more comfortable sleeping in a car. Gotta keep moving, though. Johnny sighed and stretched. He walked over to the bathroom to check that all of his possessions were out of there and flipped on the light. “Shit!” he yelled out loud as he wildly stamped his leather-soled foot in an angry dance on the warped, peeling vinyl floor. “Yuck!” Johnny walked out to the living area and wiped his shoe on the multicolored shag carpet. Damn cockroaches, he thought bitterly. I hope I didn’t pack any in my suitcase. Johnny fingered his gun in the leather holster positioned under his arm and made an angry, annoyed face. It’d serve these slumlords right if I shot up the place exterminating their bug problems.

Johnny slammed out of the motel room and used his car keys to open the trunk of his white, Cadillac Fleetwood. He’d driven over to Kelly’s late the night before and exchanged the BMW for his own car since he was reasonably sure that any spies would be able to make Frankie’s vehicle. He didn’t want to be followed on his next task.

~*~*~*~

“Ahhhhhh,” Mac sighed contentedly. He bent his neck to crack it and repeatedly rounded his shoulders to work the kinks out of his tight muscles. “I must have heard the name Frankie Smith three hundred times yesterday.” He shook his head. “I wonder how many times I’ll hear it today?”

Felicia knelt on the bed behind her husband rubbing his broad shoulders to help him relax. Her brow crinkled with her worried thoughts. “Mac? Maybe we should have been easier on Maxie. She does love the boy, or at least she thinks she does.”

“Felicia, how in good conscience could we allow her to see a boy that is involved up to his crooked neck in organized crime? I wonder if he ever was interested in Maxie for herself, or it he was trying to work his way closer to the PCPD? No, we did the right thing by forbidding her to see him.”

“They go to school together,” Felicia explained. “They have mutual friends. Are they supposed to cross the hall to avoid one another?”

“If I convince a judge to put out a restraining order on him, you’d better believe he’d stay clear of her,” Mac declared. “After meeting with the FBI yesterday, I’m heading in that direction. They have a very serious list of suspected crimes that he’s been investigated for – murder, arson, robbery, extortion, you name it.”

“I’m not advocating that Maxie date this boy,’ Felicia countered. “I’m not comfortable with this either, but Maxie is a teenager. Fifteen-year-olds don’t look at life the same way as adults. What if all of our restrictions only push her into his arms?”

“Hopefully he’ll be arrested before then,” Mac stated grimly.

“What do you mean?” Felicia questioned. She sat down beside Mac on the bed and pulled her silky white robe closer to her body.

“I haven’t decide how I’ll handle it,” Mac exclaimed. “I met for several hours with an FBI agent, a man called Richards. Most of Frankie’s alleged crimes are under federal jurisdiction, and certainly not in my jurisdiction. However, Agent Richards wants the PCPD to cooperate in assisting them with undercover surveillance in a shared resources capacity. Maybe I should cooperate with them to bring the kid down as quickly as possible. This FBI agent though – something seems off about him. He’s very creepy.”

~*~*~*~

“Robin?”

Robin sat up in bed and ran a hand over her weary eyes. “Maxie,” she said slowly. “I thought I told you I wanted to sleep in – no early phone calls.” She yawned and frowned. “Gee whiz, sis, it’s Saturday morning.”

“I know, I know,” Maxie answered tearfully. “But this is an emergency!” Maxie pulled in a deep breath and craned her neck surveying the living room to ensure that she had complete privacy. She gripped the phone tensely and said in a loud whisper, “Mom and Mac had a talk with me last night. Or maybe I shouldn’t say ‘with me.’ It was more like ‘at me.’

Robin rose from her bed and reached for her red robe, frowning at the sight of green clay smears on the right sleeve. “What’s going on, Maxie?” she asked patiently. “Uncle Mac and Felicia don’t usually lecture unless it’s serious.” She made a mental note to call Jason Morgan and give him a piece of her mind with a lecture of her own about taking care of borrowed property.

Maxie made a face. “Oh, it’s serious all right. They’ve forbidden me to see Frankie and practically threatened to disown me if I ever speak to him again. It’s terrible. I’m so in love with him. I don’t think I can take it.” She started sniveling and loudly sighed.

“Why would they do that?” Robin asked incredulously. “That’s so harsh.”

“You’re telling me,” Maxie agreed. “They say he’s a mobster, that his father was Frank Smith. Well, that is true, but it’s not his fault if he was kidnapped.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Robin exclaimed. “Slow down. What’s this about Frankie being a mobster?”

“He was Frank Smith’s son – before he was killed, that is. Now he’s Luke Spencer’s son.”

“Maxie, you aren’t making any sense,” Robin complained irritably.

“Robin, Frankie was kidnapped by Frank Smith. He’s really Luke Spencer’s son.”

“What?” Robin asked. “That’ too weird.”

“I don’t care whose son he is,” Maxie declared. “I love him and want to be with him. They won’t even let me see him at the hospital.” Maxie trailed off her words as an idea formed in her mind. “Um, Robin? I gotta go. Thanks, sis!” She hung up the phone as a determined look crossed her face.

Robin looked at the phone and shrugged. I wonder if I should have kept my mouth shut around Jason? She opened up her dresser drawer and frowned. Where did all of my lipsticks go? I swear I’m missing three or four of them.

~*~*~*~

Johnny leaned over and popped the door to the glove compartment in his white Cadillac, intending to place one of his two guns in the car for safekeeping. He didn’t like to drive distances with his waistband gun sticking into his stomach. It was too uncomfortable. Out tumbled many fake ID’s – all with Frankie’s photos on them. Johnny scooped them up from the floor and passenger seat, and flipped through them, perusing his boss’ varied descriptions with hair color ranging from blond to brown, eye color from green to blue, heights 5’4” to 5’8” and ages from 16 to 23.

When Johnny stuck his hand into the glove compartment, he discovered something else – three pistols. He exclaimed as he pulled them out. The kid already carries at least two guns on his person at all times. Why is he so loaded up? What must it be like to be fifteen years old and expect to be beaten or killed at the drop of a hat? Johnny studied closely two or three of the ID’s. In one of them, Frankie looked like he had dark circles under his eyes, but a closer inspection revealed that they were fading black eyes covered with makeup. Johnny’s mouth turned down, and his heart felt heavy. Frankie is only three years older than Rick, but he looks shell shocked, like a soldier that’s been in a bloody war for years.

Even when Frankie was four and stealing drinks out of beer cans, he’d still looked fresh and innocent with the sparkle of youth. How long had it been since Frankie had lost that vibrancy? When did it disappear? Johnny supposed it’d been when Frankie was kidnapped and assaulted at age ten. He’d never returned to the DeMarco household, and Johnny had only seen him once or twice on the Smith estate until Frankie had personally selected him as his bodyguard. Johnny recalled his interview with the twelve-year-old. He’d seemed like a young Emperor, groomed for the position since infancy.

*** “Johnny Callahan. Come in and sit down,” Frankie ordered, pointing at the chair in front of the desk in his personal study. He dramatically drained the last of his beer and threw it across the room into the wastebasket in the corner. “Ahahaha,” he laughed when the can met its mark. “Are you gonna get on my case again about my drinking?” he asked abruptly, his steely blue eyes boring into Johnny’s green ones. “I’m not four years old no more. I’m gonna be thirteen next week,” he stated imperially as he sat up ramrod straight in his executive chair.

Johnny leaned back in his chair and crossed his leg, straightening the crease on his expensive trousers. “It’s always been my opinion that children who are growing shouldn’t waste their calories on items like booze or sweets,” he stated. “I’m not likely to change that opinion, but I do obey orders.” He looked Frankie in the eye and held his gaze.

Frankie shifted in his chair and reached into the bar refrigerator beside him. He pulled out another beer, popped its top and drained half of the can. “How’s your marksmanship?” he asked.

“Top marks,” Johnny stated. “I practice weekly with five different pistols.”

Frankie nodded sagely. “Do you like to kill people?”

Johnny colored. “Not especially. However, I am very serious about guarding my employers. I do what needs to be done.”

“Do you like kids?” Frankie asked seriously.

“I have two children,” Johnny answered. “Rick – you’ve played with him before at the DeMarco’s, and Sally who was a baby the last time you saw her.”

“Ah! Da baby!” Frankie exclaimed with bright eyes. He shuffled some papers lining the top of his desk and regarded Johnny with dead eyes. “If you worked for me, who would you be loyal to? Frank – or me?”

“I work for the Frank Smith organization,” Johnny answered smoothly. “However, my direct employer always has my highest loyalty.”

Frankie smiled wickedly. “Good.” ***

Johnny reflected on how Frankie had managed to salvage a core of decency even under the tutelage of Frank Smith. Like Johnny, he genuinely didn’t enjoy hurting people. And, that was a vast improvement over working directly for someone like Frank Smith.

Johnny started his car and drove to the highway, heading south to New Jersey.

~*~*~*~

Later that morning…

“Hi Cheryl!” Luke said brightly as he slapped both hands on the counter. “Do we look like newlyweds?”

Cheryl lifted her eyes from the nurse’s station and grinned. “Did you two get married? You look mighty happy to me.”

Alexis wiggled her left hand, which revealed a gold band. “First thing this morning. You’re looking at Mr. and Mrs. Spencer. Actually, it’s Alexis Davis, attorney at law, but Mrs. Spencer at any other time.”

Luke leaned against the nurse’s station and rolled his eyes, pointing a thumb at Alexis. “These lawyer types – they’re so precise.” Luke’s face turned serious again. “How’s our son?”

Cheryl reached for Frankie’s chart and opened it. “He’s making great progress, Mr. Spencer.” She ran a finger over the notes to read the comments. “His blood platelet counts are up – almost 70,000 right now, and he’s been taken off the respirator. He’s still not mobile, but it’s a definite improvement over yesterday. You can visit him for longer periods of time today.”

“Wow,” Luke responded excitedly as he glanced at Alexis. “I didn’t expect this good news. Super.”

~*~*~*~

Luke strode into Frankie’s room with a smile on his face, and he held Alexis’ hand firmly in his own.

“Frankie! You’re looking good, son.”

Frankie’s head turned slowly toward Luke, and he pulled down his oxygen mask. “Luke,” he said with an extremely hoarse voice. “You get dat for my funeral?” Frankie pointed at the suit that Luke was wearing. Luke looked down at his clothing and colored. How did he know I only have one suit? “Wedding,” Luke corrected. “Alexis and I were married this morning.”

Frankie’s brow flickered with confusion. “Why?” he asked flatly. His eyes swept by his father to stare hard at Alexis. He studied her as if he were trying to figure out what her deal was.

Alexis shifted her feet uncomfortably and crossed her arms behind her back. “We married because we love each other and want to make a life together – we want to share a family.”

Frankie blinked. “Oh,” he said and then coughed several times, reaching for his oxygen mask and breathing in deeply. Luke wants to fuck da attorney. Okay, dat’s weird, but to marry da attorney? Frankie giggled and shook his head. Luke and Alexis looked at each other, puzzled at Frankie’s reaction to their announcement.

Frankie spoke again and directed his comments to Alexis with a jaded look on his face. “I got da legal issues to resolve. You still my attorney?”

Alexis pulled up a chair and sat down. “If that’s what you want,” she replied seriously. “What’s on your mind?”

“Somebody needs to contact Frank’s attorney to see about da will,” Frankie explained. “And da insurance and all da details. I can’t do nothin’ like dis.” Frankie spread his hand across his bed to demonstrate the extent of his helplessness.

“Do you know his attorney’s name?” Alexis asked, searching Frankie’s face for clues as to his feelings. He seems very shut down and hard, she thought. I wonder if he’s putting on a show or if he’s this cold and calculating all of the time.

“Yeah,” Frankie answered casually. “His name is Harold Jamieson. He’s got my will, too, only dere’s nothing I need to change.”

Alexis blanched and sat back in her chair. Frank had the most powerful mob attorney in the country. That man has kept more crime bosses out of jail than anyone. What have I gotten myself into? “You know, Frank’s death is still considered a crime,” Alexis said carefully, not wanting to upset the boy. “His estate may be tied up for a long time.”

Frankie shifted on the bed and shook his head. “Nah. Harry will take care of it.”

So it’s Harry, then, pondered Alexis. I think I am talking to the number two man. He wants to access the cash so he can keep himself in business. I bet his funds, although generous, have their limitations. “I’ll contact Mr. Jamieson to see what can be done,” Alexis stated. “In fact, I’ll do that right now. You have a nice talk with your father.” Alexis smiled at Frankie and noticed how red his face turned when she mentioned that Luke was his father. She stood and gave a serious look to Luke, then kissed him on the cheek and said, “I’ll call you later.”

Luke nodded and took a seat beside Frankie. He looked closely at his son and smiled at the incongruity of the mob boss lying in a pediatric ICU in nothing more than a blue gown with cartoons of spurred cowboy boots and lassos sprinkling the front of it. “Why are you continuing the business?” Luke asked quietly yet firmly. “That’s not a good way to stay healthy – or alive.”

Even though he was wearing the oxygen mask, Luke could tell that Frankie’s face screwed up at his comment “Frank wanted me to have it, and dat’s what’s left. Dere isn’t anything else.” Frankie’s eyes teared up, and his face took on a set, angry expression. He absentmindedly rubbed his chest over his heart, the area that had been sorely bruised by the chest compressions the day before. “Dey’re gonna try to kill me anyway, so I gotta strike first. Dat’s da way it works.”

“Best defense is an offense?” Luke asked.

“Yeah,” Frankie nodded.

“So how did you defend yourself against Frank?” A questioning look crossed Luke’s face, and he was flooded with sympathy for the sad but stoic boy in front of him.

Frankie recoiled with shock at Luke’s question. He scrambled on his bed, pushing himself up and away from Luke with a quick shove of his feet. He looked wildly around as if he were trying to locate an escape route. Luke’s eyes shifted to the cardiac monitor, which began displaying a faster heartbeat. Frankie made a choking noise behind his oxygen mask and tried to sit up. He grunted and panted with his frantic efforts, and placed a firm hand on his IV site, intending to rip it out. Luke quickly removed Frankie’s hand, and the boy grimaced as he fell back to the bed and yanked his arm away to curl into himself. He was faced away from Luke and refused to turn around.

Luke stood up and placed a firm hand on Frankie’s shoulder. “Let’s lay our cards out on the table,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I know that Frank beat you and abused you. I’ve heard that from multiple sources. What you need to know is that Frank did that because he hated me, not you. You are my son, and he was reminded of that by the way that you look. I’m sorry he took his anger out on you. Frankie, I’m not going to pretend that I’m not your father. I never would have wanted that mob life for you. I’m worried about you and am afraid of what might happen if you continue with Frank’s business.” Luke tried to run his hand over Frankie’s hair, but the boy flinched and scooted further away from him, hugging the edge of the bed in his efforts to distance himself from Luke. \

“Nothing happened,” he protested in a squeaky voice. He ground his teeth together and growled, “Nobody messes with me.”

“We’re being honest here,” Luke stated. “I don’t buy it.”

Frankie shrugged. “Don’t care.” His body language betrayed his lie, though, and his body trembled with emotion.

“I understand you may not be ready to talk about it,” Luke conceded, “but I’m here, and when you’re ready, I’m willing to listen.” Luke paused. “We are going to talk about your life with Frank.”

“No!” Frankie shouted hoarsely. He tore off his oxygen mask, threw it away from him and clumsily attempted to sit up again, banging himself all over in the process. Luke’s heart skipped a beat when he saw the look in Frankie’s eyes – it was a wild combination of anger, raw fear and pain, mostly fear. Through instinct, Luke rapidly released the bed rail and pulled Frankie toward him. At first, Frankie hit at Luke with flailing fists, too weak to do any real damage. Luke wrapped his strong arms around his son, and he thought to himself how small and thin Frankie seemed with the sharp feel of the ribs on his back. Immobilized, the boy’s body shuddered, but he didn’t pull away from Luke and allowed himself to be held. Frankie made a low guttural sound and continued in almost a soft wail. Luke murmured, “It’s okay,” over and over as he tried to comfort his son.

Still ensconced in Luke’s protective hold, Frankie cried out in a high pitched voice tinged with rising hysteria, “He was gonna kill me. I know it. He held a gun to my head. Go to Luke Spencer, he said. Don’t follow me. You have a new family.” Frankie was panting with wide eyes and his pursed lips making a whooshing sound. He continued rattling off a string of impressions, mixing up the separate situations. “You’re no good. Piece of trash. Frankie the hood. How can anyone believe you’re my son…”

“I’m sorry,” Luke said, laying Frankie carefully on his back and taking precautions to avoid jarring his wounds. “I’m so sorry.”

Frankie’s eyes shot around the room with a frenzied motion, avoiding Luke’s gaze. “I can’t breathe,” he croaked as his hands swept the surface of his bed searching for his oxygen mask. Luke bent down and retrieved the mask from the floor, dusting it off and placing it over his son’s face. Frankie relaxed as the oxygen flowed through the mask and pulled into his aching lungs.

“You’re my real dad, right?” Frankie asked forlornly as he rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes, losing his fight against a sudden wave of tiredness.

“Yes,” Luke replied firmly. “I’m your father, and I always will be. I won’t hurt you.”

“But I’m no good,” Frankie muttered in weak protest. “Nobody wants me,” he said as his eyes finally closed through exhaustion. “Stupid,” he whispered.

Luke watched his son fall into a restless sleep. He stood there staring for ten minutes with tears in his eyes and a stunned expression on his face before turning to leave the room.

~*~*~*~

“Please tell me you have progress to report,” Agent Richards said tersely as he drummed his fingertips on the long, polished table. “This project is trying my patience.”

Agent Samuels eased his large, muscled physique into a chair directly opposite his colleague in the conference room. He opened a thick manila folder and rifled through several papers until he found what he was looking for. “I spoke to the judge about the custody hearing,” he reported. “He was willing to delay the ruling for six weeks - until more data is available. When the attorneys show up this coming Thursday, the surprise will be that Mr. Frank Smith Junior is already a ward of the state, a boy in need of the protection of Social Services. This will give us room to maneuver if necessary.” He smirked and closed his folder. “We’ve already convinced Social Services of the boy’s urgent plight and the need for immediate action.”

“I don’t like working within the legal system,” Agent Richards sniffed. “Too many possible surprises – like justice for one.” Both agents laughed at the not so subtle joke. “We need contingency plans. The boy must not slip through our hands.”

“Frank Junior has guards now,” Agent Samuels reported. “Two Russian nationals with no ties to organized crime or intelligence agencies. We won’t be able to work with them.”

“Where the hell did he scare up two loyal Russians?” Agent Richards snapped, his nerves frayed by his urge for nicotine.

“His stepfather is Stefan Cassadine,” the other agent intoned. “Of the Cassadine Empire?”

“Oh,” Agent Richards said flatly. “So our boy has a spot of luck. It won’t last.” He sighed wearily and cracked his knuckles. “We’ll uncover his weakest points, people he cares about. Investigate that angle.”

“Yes, sir.”

Agent Richards patted his pockets until he identified his pack of cigarettes. “I’m going on a break,” he said, wheezing in anticipation of a good smoke on the sidewalk outside of the federal building.

~*~*~*~

Sly glanced edgewise at Luke as the two of them walked through the rolling green hills of the cemetery on their way to see Bill’s grave. He noticed how worn his uncle seemed, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Luke’s eyes had dark circles and bags under them, and he sighed occasionally.

“Do you feel okay, Uncle Luke?” Sly’s lips were tight, and his eyes surveyed his uncle’s face for a response.

“I’m a little sad, Sly,” Luke admitted. “I feel bad because Frank was so mean to Frankie. If Frankie doesn’t want to talk to me about it, I can’t help him.”

Sly’s face grew pensive. “Maybe he’s afraid you won’t like him because Frank hurt him. If his dad was mean to him, then he might think that you’d look down on him, too. So he wants to forget about it, cover it up and pretend like it didn’t happen.”

Luke’s eyes widened at that explanation. “How’d you become so wise?” he asked, placing his hand on Sly’ shoulder. “Did you pop out like that at birth?”

Sly shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess so.” He continued walking, and Luke smiled as he shook his head.

“Here we are, kiddo,” Luke announced. Uncle and nephew stood in front of a simple grave marker lying flush in the ground. “I’m going to go over here to sit,” Luke said, pointing to a bench some distance away under a tree. “You take all the time you need and come get me when you’re ready. I love you.” Luke patted Sly on the back and left his nephew standing on his father’s grave.

Sly squatted in front of the marble marker and used his index finger to trace the letters of his father’s full name. William Lorenzo Eckert. The stamped letters had such finality to them, carved as they were out of the hardest marble. Lying in the ground like that, the name seemed cold and far removed from the dewy, green grass and soft breezes gently blowing the silky blond hair of the boy examining it.

“Hi, dad,” Sly said quietly. “I haven’t been here for a couple of months, but I think about you every day.” He paused and took in a deep breath, holding it, then letting it out slowly. “I know you’re not here, not in the ground, but I want to talk to you. This seemed like a good place to come.” Sly blinked as he rubbed his lips together. “You’re my dad,” he breathed out. “You were always there – until the end. You weren’t perfect, and neither was I, but we loved each other. At least I think we did. I always felt safe when you were in the room like nothing bad would happen as long as we were together. But when we were apart, something bad did happen. I’m sorry you died. I know you didn’t want to. You were so proud of your new business. I wanted you to spend more time with me, but I saw that the business made you happy, so I didn’t say much. Maybe I should have spoken up more and asked you for what I wanted. You didn’t seem to hear me, but I should have tried harder. So, now I can do it right. I can ask you for what I want.” Sly rolled down from his haunches to his knees, mindful of the wet grass soaking his kneecaps as he knelt on Bill’s grave, laying the flat of his right palm on the cool stone.

“Dad? I want to live with Luke and Alexis. I want them to be my mom and dad now. You’re my first dad, my special dad.” Tears filled Sly’s eyes, and he wiped them away before they ran down his cheeks. He sighed, and his lips trembled with his tearful confession. “I’m only fourteen, and I still need someone to be with me, to take care of me. Can I have that? Will you let me be with Uncle Luke? Will you let him be my dad now?” Sly paused as if listening for Bill’s reply. “I’ll always have you to talk to, I know that. But, I need someone I can see and touch. I need someone to hug me, someone I can give a fishing rod to. Do you understand?” Sly’s voice quivered. “Will you let me go?” he whispered.

It was a windy day, and the breezes blew puffy white clouds along the sky’s horizon, allowing the sun’s rays to break through occasionally, and then quickly covering them up again. Sly remained silent, his palm still on the marble gravestone. The passing clouds revealed the bright sun, which illuminated the marker briefly, causing it to noticeably warm with its radiant touch. Eventually, the sun dimmed as another cloud passed by, and Sly shivered with the noticeable temperature change. He rose to his feet, brushing off the stray pieces of grass clinging to his pants.

Luke rested his head against the tree behind the bench where he sat and waited for his nephew. His mind was empty for once after enduring an onslaught of crises the past few days. His long legs stretched out in a relaxed manner while he folded his hands gracefully in his lap. Luke’s eyes opened, and he straightened up when he heard Sly approaching him, alerted to the rough sound of his nephew’s feet on the gravel path. Sly stood in front of Luke with his hands in his pockets, and a shy smile on his face. “Yes,” he said. Luke leaped to his feet and grinned. “Ah, that’s marvelous,” he replied warmly as he scooped his soon to be son into his waiting arms.

~*~*~*~

Johnny stood on the familiar stoop of his ex mother-in-law’s house. How many times had he rung this doorbell and waited for the door to open? He’d only been twenty-one years old when he’d started seeing Maria.

“Johnny Callahan!” Mrs. DeMarco exclaimed. She wiped her hands on her ever-present flowered apron and gave him her signature bear hug plus a peck on the cheek. “How’s my Johnny-boy?” she asked. “Oh, I’ve missed you. Come on in.”

Johnny entered the DeMarco home and was instantly assaulted by a three-year-old cousin who leaped at him with a toy sword. “Whoa there,” he exclaimed. “You’re going to run me through.” The little boy giggled and ran off.

“Dat’s Jacob. He’s my sister’s grandson,” Mrs. DeMarco explained. “You know me and da babies. Always gotta have one or two around.”

Johnny noticed the trademark cookie smell that permeated the house. “Chocolate chip?” he asked respectfully.

“Yeah, and you can help me bake ‘em,” Mrs. DeMarco answered. “I got an apron just your size.”

Johnny laughed and shook his head as he followed her to the kitchen. “I’ve missed you, mama,” he said wistfully. Every DeMarco child and their respective husband or wife called her mama – it was a silent rule that everyone followed without discussion.

“Oh, I’ve missed ya, too,” stated Mrs. DeMarco. “You’re always welcome in dis house, you know dat, Johnny.”

“I know,” he replied softly. “I have some news. I talked to Maria earlier. It’s about Frankie.”

Mrs. DeMarco dropped a cookie sheet in the sink with a loud, ringing bang and turned around. “What about Frankie?” she asked worriedly. “He wasn’t hurt in dat coup, was he? I just heard about dat. Tell me, Johnny. You’re scarin’ me here.”

Johnny bowed his head. “He was shot, mama. He received some other injuries, too. He’s real sick. He might not make it.”

“Oh no!” Mrs. DeMarco’s lips trembled, and her big brown eyes filled with tears. She nervously patted her untidy black and gray bun. “Oh no,” she repeated. Johnny stepped over to her and hugged her as she cried. “I came here to take you to see him,” he explained. “He’s in a hospital in Port Charles, New York.”

“Why is he so far away?” she asked with a creased brow.

“There’s some rather shocking news that’s come of this,” Johnny explained. “Frank Smith kidnapped Frankie from his real parents when he was only an infant. Frankie’s real name is Lucas Spencer, Junior. Apparently, Frank told him right before he died. Frankie’s having a hard time accepting it. I thought maybe a friendly face from the old days might perk him up. The first person I thought of was you.”

Mrs. DeMarco’s face softened, she reached out a hand to gently cup Johnny’s face. “You’re such a nice man,” she praised. “I wish you were still with my Maria. You were a good catch.”

Johnny blushed as his eyes saddened. “Thanks, mama. Even though Maria and I can’t live together, you’ll always be my bestest mother-in-law.”

Mrs. DeMarco removed her apron and laid it on the countertop. “Let’s deliver Jacob to my sister,” she sighed. Her face grew determined, and her brown eyes shone brightly. “Then take me to Frankie. I must see my sick baby.” She shook a reprimanding finger at Johnny. “He’s gonna get better! I’ll see to dat.”

~*~*~*~

Sly rang the doorbell to the Quartermaine mansion and patiently waited for Reginald to answer the door. He watched as Luke pulled away from the curb. He’d been to the Quartermaines many times over the past two years. Emily was the first friend that he’d made when he’d moved to Port Charles. He’d met her parents and grandparents, Jason, AJ and Ned. Usually the two friends watched television together or played board or video games in the family room. They both were killer Monopoly players and often challenged one another to tournaments that lasted all day. Emily would bring out the junk food, and they’d sit for hours, snacking down and sipping on Cokes.

“Hello Mr. Eckert,” Reginald said as he held the door open for Sly.

“Hi Reginald,” Sly answered brightly. “Thanks,” he said politely as he entered the house.

“You look particularly dashing tonight, Sly,” Reginald noticed. “And blue is Miss Emily’s favorite color.”

Sly looked down at the blue plush alligator that he held under his left arm. “I know,” he said with a wide grin and hopeful eyes.

“Hi Sly!” Emily came running from the living room. Her brown eyes were bright with anticipation. This was the first ever date for both of them, and the evening held promise. Sly leaned in to kiss Emily’s cheek. “Aren’t you glad we practiced for our first date?” he whispered sexily in her ear. Emily blushed, and a shiver went up her spine when Sly kissed her lips.

“Ahem.”

Emily and Sly turned toward Reginald. “We’re ready to go,” Emily stated.

Yeah, I can tell, Reginald thought. Good thing Mrs. Quartermaine didn’t see that kiss. Miss Emily would be locked into her room until she turned eighteen.

“Oh wait! This is for you, Emily.” Sly handed over the alligator.

Emily’s eyebrow rose an inch. An alligator wasn’t her idea of a soft and cuddly creature, but it was her favorite shade of blue. She reached for the plush toy and smiled. “Thanks, Sly,” she said appreciatively. “Maybe I should leave it home, though, so I don’t lose it,” she suggested.

Does she like it? Sly looked at Emily worriedly, but shrugged. “Okay,” he agreed.

~*~*~*~

Sly and Emily held hands as they walked through the mall. Reginald was picking them up in four hours, and they had plenty of time for dinner and a movie. Sly was glad that he’d saved more money from the allowance that Bobbie gave him. He wanted to splurge on Emily, giving the best first date possible to his new love.

Later, when both were seated a booth in the fancy burger restaurant, Sly laid down his fork and said excitedly, “I have some news.”

“What’s up?” Emily asked as she speared a large fry into ketchup.

“My Uncle Luke asked me if he could adopt me. I said yes.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow. Sly, I’m so happy for you.” She reached across the table and took his hand. “Luke is so nice. He’ll make a great dad.”

“I think so,” Sly concurred. “At first I was worried about Frankie, but he told me that I’ll be his younger son, while Frankie is his older one. That’ll work out.”

“I was worried at first when Monica and Alan wanted to adopt me,” Emily confided. “I felt like maybe my mom wouldn’t want that? But, I think she’s happy that someone is taking care of me and loving me. It’s what she’d want.”

“Yeah,” Sly agreed. “I visited the cemetery this afternoon to visit my dad. I felt the same way, like he gave me his blessing. I’m pretty excited about it now. We’re all going to live together in one big house – Uncle Luke, Alexis, Frankie and me. Ohmigosh. I forgot. Alexis is adopting me, too. I’m going to have a mom, a dad, and a brother. And now Nikolas will sort of be like a brother, too.”

“You hit the jackpot,” Emily laughed. “Now if you could only convince Frankie and Nikolas to get along.”

“That’s a big questionmark. Who knows what will happen with them? They hate each other.”

Sly reached under the table with his foot and nudged Emily’s sandal. “Want to hit the movie early? While we’re waiting for the movie to start we can talk and stuff.”

~*~*~*~

It was good planning on Sly’s part to buy dinner for them before the movie. Now, there was no superpopcorn to get in their way. The couple was sitting in the very last row in a fairly unpopular movie – Revenge of the Mummy Creatures. There were scattered couples throughout the theatre, but none near the amorous teens.

Sly wrapped his arm around Emily in a clever stealth move. His dancing green eyes met Emily’s happy brown ones. “Thanks for coming with me tonight. It’s been a real nice date so far.”

Emily sighed and snuggled closer to Sly. “It’s perfect.”

Sly was pleased with the selection of the horror movie and that Emily had gone along with it. There would be plenty of opportunities for her to scream and require the steady warmth of her date to help her calm down. He’d conveniently forgotten how scared he usually got when watching suspense and monsters, particularly large sharks named Jaws. Right now, all he wanted to do was kiss her for hours. Sly leaned in and captured her lips, rubbing them insistently as his hand pulled her closer. He was dying to feel her soft, warm chest pressing into his own, and he shifted pleasurably in his seat as a hot tingle headed south. Practice makes perfect, he thought contentedly as their tongues intertwined and caressed. They were so into each other, that neither one noticed when the movie started, and soon fifteen more minutes passed by. The cruelty of fate intervened, and when they finally came up for air, the mummy was strangling its first victim. In a nearly empty theatre, both of them shrieked at the tops of their lungs while shooting up in their seats, drawing the unwanted attention of the other eight moviegoers.

Emily and Sly laughed and pointed fingers at one another. “Scaredy cat,” Emily teased. “Scream-factory,” Sly teased back. Their eyes locked and gazed adoringly at each other and soon the mummy was forgotten as their kisses reignited their passion.

~*~*~*~

Frankie was miserable. He’d been awake for the last two hours and had nothing to occupy his time except his thoughts. When he’d first woken up, he’d felt distinctly uneasy. That Luke dude had pushed him hard, and he’d folded. He didn’t like it. He should have been able to blow him off better than that, but there was something about the man. He’d been there with Frankie from the beginning – except for now. Frankie’s eyes wandered around his room, and he felt a stab of loneliness. Luke was usually here when he was awake, but he’d been gone for a long time. Frankie wondered if he were coming back. Maybe he hated him now since he couldn’t talk about some things? It was ingrained in Frankie that he had to stay strong. Stay strong and stay alive. Don’t show your hand to your friends or enemies – and any friend was a potential enemy. All he was trying to do was survive - didn’t Luke understand that? Johnny knew about some things – not everything, but some. He could trust Johnny. Johnny was his man. But this Luke, this new father of his, he seemed persistent. Persistence was a good quality. Frankie had learned that by spending years around the business. Persistence paid off. But what did Luke want? He couldn’t figure him out. There’s no way that Luke wanted him for a son even if he said he did – he was lying – Frankie was sure of that.

Frank’s words whirled about in his mind, and he curled up on his bed, trying to shrink away from the accusations. He felt coated with shame. He kicked his legs against the bed in frustration. Frank didn’t want him – neither did Luke. Deep down, Frankie knew it was because he was no good, a mistake in the universe. Frank had never let him forget that he was the illegitimate son of a whore.

But now he wasn’t?

Frankie’s lips turned up slightly. He liked his mama. “Pretty,” he whispered to himself. He remembered lying in her warm arms, feeling safe and loved. I wanna spend more time with her and meet da baby. He refused to think about Nikolas or having to deal with him to get closer to his mother.

A cheerful nurse entered the room and interrupted his thoughts. “Hello, Frankie,” she said brightly.

Frankie made a face and ignored her. He didn’t have to talk to any stupid broad unless he wanted to. Fucking bitch.

“How are you feeling?”

Frankie remained silent and covered his face with his arm. Leave. Get a clue. Wonder if Johnny’s making progress selling da business? “Gimme a phone,” he ordered.

“I’m sorry, not in ICU,” the nurse replied.

Frankie’s face turned red as his bad mood intensified, flaming hotly within. His eyes became hard and cold, not unlike Frank’s used to be, and he replied in an oily voice, “You know what my father would do to a whore like you? He’d choke the life out of her or anybody else who disobeyed him.” Frankie paused for effect. “And I’ve seen him do it – more dan once.” Frankie’s eyes flashed, and his lips curled into a sneer as he made a gripping motion with his hand.

The nurse paled and stepped away from the bed. She didn’t get paid to have her life threatened. She abruptly exited the room with Frankie’s narrowed eyes watching her. He shook his head and laughed. Barely a second after she left, he regretted his words. He was really lonely, and he could have talked to her for a few minutes. Damn. Why did he have to be so much like Frank? He couldn’t help himself sometimes. The words or the actions sprang out of nowhere. It was like he became possessed. Frankie recalled his earlier harassment of the silly geometry teacher. It seemed like the Frank part of him had emerged at that time, too. He was doomed.

Frankie shivered and wrapped his arms around his head. He was scared, really, really scared. The fear grew in intensity and prickled around his insides. When he was dying, he’d been too ill to contemplate his situation, but now that he was improving, the unwelcome thoughts and feelings jabbed at him repeatedly. What was going to happen to him? How was he going to survive? His first idea following Frank’s death, after he’d considered prompt suicide, was to rent an apartment with Johnny, a bachelor’s pad. But, he knew these people called family weren’t going to leave him alone. What would they take away from him? His name? His business? His lifestyle? His personality? He had plenty of money – he could run, but he was too dependent, lying in this bed with all of his wounds. Maybe it would have been best if Caruso had taken him out. Too bad he hadn’t died when his heart had stopped.

Frankie raised his hand and looked around at the medical equipment that was helping him keep alive. If he could get out of here, he could crawl away somewhere and die in peace. Was it possible to rig the machinery so no alarms would sound with the removal of the leads? Frankie frowned. But then, he’d have to escape Lurch, the door guardian. Not possible. Where were his guns when he needed them? Oh man, he had to get away – away from his fears and all of these people. Frankie grew agitated, removed his oxygen mask and dropped it to the floor in disgust. He stared at his multiple IV sites and held his breath as he pulled two of them out. Fluid began spilling from the disconnected IV’s, and he made a shocked, open-mouthed expression on his face as the pain of his actions pricked at his nerves. He flung back his sheets and moved aside his gown. What about dese tubes? he wondered. The chest tube had killed him when it was pulled out before, so he left it alone. He touched his abdominal tubing with tentative fingers, pulling on it slightly when he worked up the nerve. “Uhhhh,” he exclaimed as the site shouted out with pain. He grew frustrated and claustrophobic, unable to disconnect what he’d need to work himself free from the bed.

Aware that he was stuck in his predicament, but unable to accept it, Frankie began pounding on the cardiac monitor beside him as the readings rose higher in intensity. He ripped off several leads and rose to a sitting position in the bed. His head felt woozy, but he wasn’t thinking anyway, just reacting. He noticed the blood trickling down his arm from his torn IV sites, and he grabbed the Cookie Monster puppet, holding it firmly against his arm.

“What’s going on in here?” A deeply masculine voice rang out in the ICU room. Frankie’s back was turned to the doorway, and his stomach clenched when he saw a large, 200-pound male nurse accompanied by the frightened female nurse that he’d threatened earlier. Frankie didn’t say anything - he just stared at the large man who approached him. The closer the man came, the larger he appeared.

“What have you done to yourself?” the man asked incredulously. He grabbed the loose monitor leads and waved them at the other nurse. “Look at this.”

Frankie scrambled to climb over the bed railing, and the male nurse held him firmly by the arms as he tersely directed the other nurse to bring a sedative. “Settle down,” the man ordered calmly yet authoritatively.

“Dammit, get offa me!” Frankie protested shrilly as he tried to wrench his arms away from the man’s grasp.

“Are you going to stay still?” the man asked. “If you don’t try to move, I’ll let you go.”

Frankie nodded wordlessly. The nurse released him, and Frankie immediately vaulted over the side of the bed with the rush of his last ounce of energy. He’d be damned if anyone would try to stop him from what he wanted to do. Only, now, he wasn’t exactly sure what that was as he sailed through the air. He essentially somersaulted over the rail and landed hard on his bad leg and hip. He was too shocked to cry out, and instead writhed in pain, smearing blood on the floor around him. He gasped and fell over onto his back with his arms flung out from his sides, and the puppet that had dived with him off the bed dragged underneath his right foot.

The male nurse raced around to the other side of the bed and knelt beside Frankie. “Oh my God,” he exclaimed. “Why did you do that?” He looked up gratefully when the female nurse approached with a syringe. Frankie stared up at the ceiling, unable to move, as the man injected the sedative into his uninjured hip.

“We’re going to need some help fixing him up,” the male nurse stated. “He’s really done a number on himself. Who’s the physician on call?”

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