Fallen Angel - TOC

Chapter Thirty-Nine

7:00 AM

"Maxie-girl, why aren't you up?" Felicia sat down on Maxie's bed and placed her hand on her daughter's back. "We're leaving for church in forty-five minutes. You need to get ready."

Maxie turned to face Felicia, and an unhappy expression crossed her face. "I don't feel well," she complained to her mother as she held a hand to her stomach.

Felicia felt her daughter's forehead. "You don't seem hot. I don't think you have a fever."

"But I ache, and my stomach hurts. I don't want to get out of bed. Let me stay home and sleep some more."

Felicia frowned lightly as she contemplated what to do. "Are you sure you'll be all right if we leave you home? We'll be gone for about three hours."

"No, go ahead, mom. I'll be fine by myself. Lock the doors, and I'll be safe here as I sleep." Maxie stifled a yawn and blinked her eyes in an attempt to look appealing and sleepy.

"I'll bring you in some tea and plain toast," Felicia offered as she rose from Maxie's bed. "I'll feel better if I know you've eaten something. You can stay home this morning, but make sure you stay in bed."

"Okay," Maxie replied sweetly as she watched her mother walk out of her bedroom, and a secretive grin slowly spread across her pretty face.

~*~*~*~

Frankie lay still on his back, uncomfortable with the ice packs still surrounding his raised, injured leg and hip. He hadn't slept very well during the night, and his morning sleep was fractured by a series of bad dreams, most of them involving Frank. His face scrunched up, and he made a few noises of protest as he clenched his fists and jaw. His head shook stiffly back and forth on his pillow as his eyebrows knit into a frown. His chest began heaving as his breaths quickened, and a drop of sweat rolled down his face.

*** A man was kneeling in the woods surrounding the Smith estate, his hands bound tightly behind his back and a gag silencing his muffled protests. The night was dark with only the trace illumination of a new moon enabling them to see the twitching shadows of the man struggling for his life. Frankie shivered with the crisp, cool air causing goosebumps to rise on his thin, twelve-year-old arms. His big, blue eyes looked back and forth from the man to his father. The man in a subservient position in front of Frankie was three times his age.

Frank casually lit a cigar and flicked the extinguished match onto the ground with a flick of his wrist. "Peters is a traitor, a snitch," he stated in his deep, unemotional voice that held the same tone as if he'd indicated that the trash needed to be taken out. He reached into his waistband and produced a pistol. He turned it in his hand, regarding its cool, lethal beauty. He placed his heavy hand on Frankie's shoulder. "Are you a man?" he asked seriously.

Frankie's lips tightened into a thin, white line. "Yes," he nodded. "I'm a man."

Frank handed his son the pistol and stated firmly, "You know what you have to do. We can't have traitors in the Smith organization."

The man on the ground made loud, frantic noises as he tried to turn around and plead his case. Frank whacked him on the back of his head with his pistol. "Shut up," he gritted out. "Or we'll make it painful for you." Frank handed the pistol to his young son. "Take him out," he ordered.

Frankie's small hand closed around the handle of the pistol. The gun looked especially huge in his hand as he barely stood five feet tall. He sneaked a glance at Frank out of the sides of his eyes. He didn't want to do this. He'd never met the man and had nothing personal against him. Frankie held his breath as he stepped toward the man and tensed his index finger on the trigger. He jumped slightly, startled by the call of an owl in a nearby tree.

"What are you waiting for?" Frank asked in a bored tone of voice.

Frankie tried to form the murderous intent in his mind and focus on the task at hand. This was a test. Either he passed or he'd pay the price. He knew the stakes were high. He raised his arm in the direction of the man's head, his hand shaking rhythmically. He blinked rapidly, his long eyelashes brushing his soft cheeks. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, hoping that the pain would encourage a jolt of anger in his body, enabling him to do the unthinkable.

After a minute, Frank made a disgusted noise. "You little hood," he exclaimed as he roughly grabbed his son's hand, holding down his finger and pressing into it, making Frankie fire the gun repeatedly until four bullets ripped the life out of the human being in front of him. The man fell forward and convulsed for a brief moment, as the leaves around his body became dark and wet with his spilled lifeblood. Frank tore the gun out of Frankie's hand. "Weak little shit," he muttered, holding the gun to his side and twirling it around his finger as his anger burned hotly. He grabbed Frankie by the shirt collar, dragging him upward until the boy scrabbled on his tiptoes for a hold on the ground. Frank let him go, and when Frankie tried to regain his balance, brutally pistol-whipped him twice, sending his skull flying first to the left and then to the right with a vicious snap. Frankie sank wordlessly to the ground, with his eyes firmly closed and his battered face resting silently on the blood-littered leaves. Frank shook his head and placed the gun back into his waistband. "Ought to leave you for the trash collector," he murmured darkly as he bent over and picked up his unconscious son, hoisting his light weight over his shoulder and carrying him back to the mansion. ***

Frankie grunted and cried out several times, and the nurse who entered his room shook her head. "Are you still at it?" she questioned. "You've been doing this all night, making the monitors give off warnings. You must have some interesting dreams. I thought that sedative would settle you down." Frankie finally calmed as the brutal memories fled his mind, and the nurse set down her supplies, turning her attention to her patient. She gently touched Frankie's shoulder to wake him. His eyes opened with a wary expression tightening his face. "Time to wash you up," she exclaimed cheerfully. Frankie's eyes trailed down to the new gown that she'd laid down on the bed, and his upper lip curled, as he looked aghast at the elephants and peanuts that decorated the front of his newest hospital fashion emergency.

~*~*~*~

Maxie turned the key in the ignition of Felicia's car. The family had left in Mac's car, and she'd stolen her mother's extra set of keys from the key holder positioned near the back door. She was thankful that she'd at least obtained her learner's permit, even if she'd only driven on a real road several times, and never by herself. But, the need for an exciting thrill and the desire to see Frankie propelled her into action. Her tongue stuck slightly out of her mouth as she concentrated on working the gas pedal and the automatic shift in a coordinated manner. She accidentally pressed too hard on the gas and turned the wheel to the left when she placed the car in reverse, and she roared out into the driveway, but not before taking a small chunk out of the frame of the garage door. I'll blame it on mom, she thought. She's such an airhead when she drives, she won't remember not doing it.

Maxie nervously pulled out onto the street, grateful that General Hospital was only five miles away and thankful for the light Sunday morning traffic.

~*~*~*~

Sly turned over in bed and opened his eyes as the morning sun poured into his bedroom in Bobbie's brownstone. He smiled at the memories of his date with Emily the night before. He rubbed his lips together, remembering the endless sweet kisses that he'd shared with his girl. He'd had a wonderful, crazy, passionate date and hadn't even needed the counsel of Frankie, chief mall advisor. Sly sat up and rubbed his forehead, trying to work the cobwebs out of his sleepy head. He wandered over to his dresser and peered into the mirror. Sure, he was fourteen years old and a bit gawky, but there was a handsome guy taking shape around the rough edges. He smoothed out his hair and noticed that it was silky and shiny. Emily had complimented him on his hair, running her fingers through the blond strands. He only had a couple of pimples, hidden effectively by the acne cover medicine that he'd bought. His lips were full, and his nose angular. Sly blinked in surprise. I look a little bit like Frankie - and Luke, he thought. Now that Frankie's dark hair is cut off it's obvious. He gave himself a sly smile as he recalled his successful makeout session in the back of the movie theatre. Maybe it's inherited.

~*~*~*~

Maxie stealthily slid through the hospital corridors, heading for the pediatric ICU that she'd found on the map in the hospital lobby. It was still early, too early for visitors, so the halls were somewhat deserted, which suited her fine. She didn't want anyone asking her questions inquiring about her intentions or why she was there. She bent over a water fountain, faking the need for a drink of water, when she saw a nurse leaving ICU 5, the room where Frankie was. She'd overheard her mother mentioning the room number when she was eavesdropping on Mac and Felicia's conversation about Frankie. She pressed the button on the water fountain and gulped down more water than she wanted. After a reasonable amount of time, she finally came up for air and darted her eyes around the area.

The nurse's station was faced away from Frankie's room and so she slipped undetected into ICU 5. She was fortunate to miss a Russian guard since the shift change left a five-minute time period with no guard standing outside the room. Her face fell, and her insides felt upset when she saw the boy lying motionless on the bed, connected to many monitors and surrounded by serious-looking medical paraphernalia. Frankie's eyes were closed, and his leg was still elevated. Maxie walked over to his bed and stared down at him. It was Frankie all right, but he was a little hard to recognize. She noted his new haircut - and haircolor. I thought he had dark hair. It must have been dyed. That's weird. I like him better with light hair. A few tears welled up in her eyes when she noted the fading bruises on his face. She reached out, running a finger over his smooth cheek and admiring his good looks. Her heart jumped when Frankie's bright blue eyes popped open to the sight of his favorite girl.

"Maxie," he breathed out happily as his face creased with a broad smile. "Whatcha doin' here?"

"Frankie. I had to come and see you. I snuck out of the house and stole the car." Maxie was starting to wonder if she'd done the right thing by coming here unannounced, and she laughed nervously.

Frankie reached out and took Maxie's hand into his own. "My kinda girl," he chuckled. "Don't want you to get in trouble, though." His eyes eagerly ran over her face and figure, noting the curve of her lips, the tilt of her eyes and the fit of her sweater. "I missed you," he said softly and sincerely.

"Me, too," Maxie answered as her eyes sparkled back at him, relieved that he wanted to see her. She squeezed Frankie's hand, and he quickly returned the gesture as the two teens continued to stare at each other while memorizing one another's features.

"Come here," he motioned toward the bed. "Put the rail down and hop on board." He rubbed the bed beside him and scooted over to the side to accommodate her. "Help me move my leg," he asked.

Maxie lowered the rail and gently picked up Frankie's leg, moving it to the side and replacing the piece of foam rubber under his leg to keep it elevated. She nervously nibbled on her lower lip and glanced behind her toward the doorway. "I'm not going to get busted, am I?" she inquired warily. "When's the nurse coming back?"

Frankie made a face and shook his head. "I'll get rid of da bimbos," he promised.

Maxie looked uneasy. "Why do you call the nurses bimbos?" she questioned.

"Cause that's what dey are," Frankie sniffed. "Do this, don't do dat. Nobody tells me what to do." Frankie's bad mood shifted abruptly when he remembered that a beautiful girl was in his room. "Come here," he asked again with a seductive tone of voice and a fluid motion of his hand rubbing on the sheets. He ran the tip of his tongue over his lips, and Maxie stared at him, fascinated by how sexy he was even laid up in a hospital bed. She abandoned her reticence and climbed into the bed, careful not to bang into Frankie or jar his injuries. Both of them moved toward each other for maximum snuggle capacity, and Frankie sighed deeply with appreciation. He held his IV connected arm stiffly to his side in order not to disturb it, but he wrapped his free arm around his girl. He nestled his face into her fragrant blond hair and anxiously breathed in, rubbing his cheek on its softness. Maxie laid her hand on his chest and quickly retracted it when she felt the monitor leads.

"Sorry," Frankie apologized. "I'm connected."

"So I noticed," Maxie commented. Fear rose in her gut. "You're real sick, aren't you?" She looked intensely at Frankie's face. He seems ill, she noted. Like he's worse off than anyone is letting on.

"Sorta," Frankie admitted. "I'm gettin' better, though. I almost croaked a couple of days ago. Scared me."

Maxie felt her heart constrict. "I don't want anything to happen to you," she said worriedly.

"Me, neither," Frankie laughed.

"What's wrong with your leg?" Maxie asked. "I thought you hurt your kidney."

"I did. But I also got shot, and den I fell and hurt my hip. I can't move my leg too well neither."

Maxie reared up in surprise. "Shot?" she whispered in amazement. "Nobody told me that."

"Probably didn't want to worry you." Frankie gently pulled Maxie back down on the bed and turned to kiss her lips to prove how he wasn't incapacitated in every way. He rubbed her lips insistently, amazed that he could feel horny in his current state. He placed her hand on his hip, moved it backward and giggled against her lips when her eyes opened widely.

"Frankie!" she whispered loudly in protest.

"Ain't got no briefs!" Frankie sang out. He raised one eyebrow and giggled again. "But don't worry, my artillery is otherwise occupied." He moved his good leg over hers and kissed her hungrily. "I missed dis," he sighed as he stroked her hair and looked deep into her eyes with a cloudy look of desire.

Maxie swatted him lightly on his upper arm. "Frankie, I've never made out with someone on oxygen," she laughed. "I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you or dislodge something."

"Hurt me," Frankie murmured lowly as his lips curled upwards into a sexy grin. Much as he hated to admit it, Frankie was growing tired, and he soon nestled back onto the bed with a sigh.

"Are you really Luke Spencer's son?" Maxie asked curiously as she settled in closer to Frankie, draping an arm over his midriff. "My mom told me. Actually, Sly told me first, but I pretended like I didn't know when mom announced it."

Frankie's face colored. "Yeah," he admitted. "He's my dad."

"How do you feel about that?" Maxie asked. "It must have been quite a shock. I mean, you spent all of your life thinking you were someone else's son."

"You could say dat." Frankie's face looked sad and strained as he tried to sit up. "Frank, da man I thought was my father was killed. He's dead now." Frankie took in a gulping breath in an attempt to hold back the flow of tears, but one or two escaped anyway. He wasn't used to the idea that Frank was gone.

Maxie's face softened when she saw Frankie's grief. "I'm so sorry," she murmured.

Frankie pulled Maxie into a hug and said, "Thanks," in a tear roughened voice. He clung to her with a desperate feeling welling up inside of him. Eventually, he separated from Maxie and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Do you like Luke?" Maxie asked carefully.

"Yeah," Frankie admitted. "He's been real nice to me. He's stayed with me and stuff when I was hurt bad. He's okay." His eyes flickered with confusion as he went from grief for the man he'd thought was his father to appreciation for the man who really was. "It's hard for me to talk about. Makes me feel funny inside."

"It's hard having more than one dad," Maxie agreed. "I feel torn sometimes between Mac and my real father. My real dad is gone all of the time and Mac does a lot for me, but I still miss my dad."

Frankie looked at Maxie with understanding. "I know how dat is," he agreed. "But my dad's dead and now I got a whole new family." His eyes brightened. "I got a mama now," he confided. "Real pretty, and nice, too. I never had a mama before." Frankie's eyes suddenly took on an evil gleam. "Too bad I hate some of dem - da new family."

"Who?" Maxie questioned. "Why would you hate somebody?"

"Nikolas Cassadine, dat bastard. I hate his guts." Frankie's face screwed up in anger.

"You're related to Nikolas? That's wild. He's your brother? I can't believe that. You two don't look anything alike."

"Half brother," Frankie spat out. "And, no, I don't claim him. Stupid idiot."

Maxie dropped that conversation, aware that it was a sensitive subject. She closed her eyes and snuggled with Frankie, enjoying his warm body lying next to hers. Frankie closed his eyes and enjoyed her warm body as well. "You're my angel. You make da bad dreams go away," he murmured sleepily.

~*~*~*~

"Our mark is playing snuggle bunny with some girl," the hit man complained into the public pay phone. "I'm only takin' out Smith Junior, so I'm waitin' for a better opportunity." He listened closely. "I know. I said I'd do it today. It'll be done. Don't worry." He hung up the phone and shook his head with irritation as he adjusted his uniform and looked around him to make sure he didn't stand out like a sore thumb in the hospital environment.

~*~*~*~

Emily woke up with her arm wrapped around her blue plush alligator. "Sly," she said to herself as she smiled at the memories of her first date. The alligator, although not her favorite animal, was starting to grow on her. She reflected on how nice Sly had been to buy her a present. He was so thoughtful - as well as cute and a good kisser. He'd made their first date perfect with every detail attended to. She padded into the adjoining bathroom and frowned slightly when she glanced into the mirror. She winced as she ran her fingers over her lips and chin. They were swollen and red, singing out in pain as if they'd been burned. Sly wasn't old enough to have a five o'clock shadow that would irritate her face, but their marathon make-out session had rubbed her chin and lips until they were raw. She reached into a cabinet drawer for some lip balm and smeared it over her lips. She giggled. If we make out any more than that, I'm going to get calluses!

~*~*~*~

"What in the world!"

Frankie's eyes opened widely, and Maxie stirred in his arms. His eyes darted right to the source of the loud sound.

A large, formidable looking nurse was standing in the doorway with her hands on her prodigious hips. Her red lipsticked lips were askew on her frowning face. "What is the meaning of this?" she questioned tensely.

Maxie finally opened her eyes and yawned. Ohmigosh. We fell asleep. We're busted. She sat up hurriedly on the bed and almost hopped off, but was restrained by Frankie's hand. He pulled her close to his face and placed a gentle hand behind her head, directing her lips to his. He moaned as he gave her a very deep kiss that seemed to last forever. When they came up for air, he winked at her. "Thanks," he whispered.

Maxie scooted off the bed and carefully walked by the nurse, refusing to meet her eyes. When she stepped out of the doorway, she stopped in the hall and held a hand over her heart, laughing.

"What were you doing with a girl in your bed?" the nurse asked firmly.

"Getting lucky?" Frankie answered snidely as he raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "You interrupted my action. Don't do dat again," he ordered. "Makes me cranky," he added for emphasis.

"I'll give you a reason to be cranky if you don't lose the attitude," the imposing nurse retorted.

Frankie looked more closely at the large Nurse Ratchett lookalike and subtlely flinched, sinking his head further into his pillow with an uncertain look on his face. Dang. Dey get uglier every day, he thought crossly.

~*~*~*~

"Mornin' darlin.'"

Alexis turned around and smiled at her husband. She was dressed in a pretty pink silk lounging outfit, toasting several bagels and watching over a percolating coffeepot. "Newspaper's on the table,' she offered, pointing with her elbow.

A surprised smile crept across Luke's face at the unusual display of domesticity. He rejected the newspaper in favor of a cuddle with his new bride, choosing to wrap his arms around her waist and place a kiss on her exposed neck. "Yummy," he murmured contentedly. He turned her around to face him, and his eyes lovingly caressed her face. "Good morning, Mrs. Spencer. My, I like how that sounds."

Alexis kissed Luke, tweaked his goatee and grasped his hands, turning them palm side up and kissing them. "Sit down. I have things to take care of," she said. "I must concentrate. This isn't my sphere of excellence."

Luke moved away and reluctantly sat down in a chair. "Oh, I don't know," he commented lightly with an appreciative leer. "Seems to me you're excellent at anything you do."

"Charmer," Alexis shot back at him as she handed him a mug of coffee.

"Always," Luke replied silkily, watching her backside march back to the kitchen counter.

Alexis laid a plate full of nearly burnt bagels on the breakfast table and took a seat. She reached for the cream cheese and exclaimed, "We might as well share our Frankie news and get it out of the way before we settle in."

Luke reached for the peanut butter and smeared a generous amount on his bagel, hoping to cover up the crispy flavor. "Okay, here's my Frankie report. He took a dive off of his bed yesterday, adding another injury to his insult. Now he'll be on crutches for weeks after leaving the hospital. He's got hip pointers - that's a football player's injury. Seems my son is proud of himself now for being a complete idiot." Luke took a large bite from his bagel and chewed for a long time on the tough substance. "He's upset that we're adopting Sly," he added. "He's afraid for his position in the family I think. I tried to reassure him, but I'm not sure how much progress I made. He's a squirmy one. I make a breakthrough with him - or at least think I do - and then he retreats full force, as heavily armed as Fort Knox. When I returned to the hospital, I heard him crying for me. He was calling for Luke and Dad at the same time. Is he finally associating the two? I dunno." Luke took a healthy sip from his coffee. "What's your news? Did you get hold of the mob lawyer?"

"Oh, yeah," Alexis breathed out with large eyes and a shake of her head. "Seems I'm receiving quite an education here, associating with your son. Harold Jamieson knows Frankie well - he's a real Uncle Harry to the boy, he's known him for years. It gave me the creeps talking to that beady-eyed crook from across the table. Felt like I needed a shower after that encounter. But, he's smart - viciously so." She sighed. "He'll be consulting with me on Frankie's legal matters. Surprisingly, the homicide case has been closed. Frank's body was too badly burned to retrieve any evidence other than a few melted bullets under the corpse. Dental records identified him, so at least we know he's dead. However, the police decided that anyone in the mansion could have been a suspect given Frank's rotten behavior, and with no evidence left to obtain, they opted to close the case and save the taxpayers some money. So, Frankie's off the hook. The Atlantic City police aren't interested in him, so either they're on the payroll still or they're glad the kid isn't living there anymore and don't want him back. It's likely a combination of the two. Frank has a will, and there will be a reading of his will in a week. Frankie will need to be there if he's able. I asked the attorney to hold it at Wyndemere so we'll be on our own turf and be able to adequately protect Frankie. Mr. Jamieson indicated that the majority of Frank's business wouldn't be in the will and that Frankie has taken it over anyway. Isn't that just peachy?"

Luke's face colored and he lowered his eyes. "He told me that he had reactivated Frank's business so that he could sell off the illegal side of it. He wants to keep the legal business and become super-CEO. Seems rather proud of himself. What a nightmare. I was in shock when he rattled that off. I really wish you'd been with me at that point. I was shaking in my knees. This is so shocking to me. I have no control over my son. It's like walking a minefield, and I'm never sure where I'm stepping. I can hardly handle the rapid switching back and forth from little kid in need of a hug to hardened mobster. It's disorienting."

Alexis nodded sympathetically. "Do you suppose the little kid is the real Frankie, the one inside of him that he's afraid to show? Was the mobster act to keep himself alive in Frank's household?"

"Why would he keep acting that way if that's true?" Luke questioned.

"Habit?" Alexis guessed. "He doesn't know any alternatives?"

Luke finished his mug of coffee and sought out a refill. "He's sexually active," Luke commented while he poured the brew.

"Really?" Alexis asked softly.

"Since age twelve," Luke stated wearily as he sought Alexis' eyes for a reaction. When he saw the shock, he laughed bitterly. "My reaction as well. Frank gave him a hooker for his twelfth birthday present. He had his own personal hooker or whore as he called her, his favorite."

"My God, Luke," Alexis stated in disbelief.

Luke nodded and sat his mug back onto the table. "This is gonna make a praying man out of me before it's over."

~*~*~*~

"How did you sleep, mama?" Johnny asked as he led Mrs. DeMarco to his car and opened the passenger door for her.

"Good," she answered. "Dat Ruby and I stayed up until two in da morning talking about dis and dat. She's a gem."

Johnny smiled. "Yes, Ruby's wonderful. I'm glad she's Frankie's great aunt. He really took to her as soon as he met her. I think she reminded him of you," he added lightly. "Frankie missed you quite a bit."

Mrs. DeMarco's face brightened. "He always was one of my favorites," she confessed. So needy - he was crying out for love. Made me sad. It killed me when Frank cut us off from him and kept him locked in dat mansion." She gripped her large purse tightly to her bosom.

Johnny smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, mama. But now that's all behind us and firmly in the past. Frank's dead."

"Thank goodness, dat no-good bastard," Mrs. DeMarco said in a low, angry voice. "Too bad it couldn't have been me with dat gun in his face."

Johnny sighed as he started the car and pulled out onto the street. "Take a number, mama. We all wanted him dead. Now, let's go see Frankie at the hospital."

~*~*~*~

Frankie relaxed after his ordeal with the beefy nurse, relieved that she had finally left him alone after handling him rougher than he'd prefer. I thought I'd have to call the guard the way she rolled me around on da bed like a mad wrestler lady. He was in that twilight area between sleep and wakefulness, and his mind wandered, refusing to settle on a particular topic or person.

The cleaning crew made their morning rounds, sweeping floors and emptying trash containers. The janitor entered ICU 5 and made a few banging noises as he threw the trash container against his cart. Frankie's eyes opened as slits as he watched the janitor move slowly through the room. He took in the man's mustache and long blond ponytail that trailed down his back. Da beatnik janitor, he thought with amusement. Looks like a Grateful Dead groupie. Where's da dancin' skeletons? His eyes trailed down the man's legs and stopped at his feet where he expected to see sneakers or perhaps the ubiquitous Birkenstocks. Frankie's heart skipped a beat when he saw what actually covered the man's feet - wingtip shoes! Did janitors ever wear wingtip shoes? Frankie took another look at the man's head and decided that he was wearing a wig and a fake mustache. His hands gripped his sheets in terror as he realized that his last seconds are earth were counting down and there might only be three or four of them left. Da assassin!

He was trapped - connected to every monitor known to man and tied down by multiple IV's. How could he fight or escape? His last refuge was the Russian guard that was stationed outside the door. Sure, he was stupid and had let the intruder in by mistake, but this guard was muscle-bound, as wide as he was tall. Frankie opened his mouth to yell, but before his vocal cords activated, the intruder made a quick move and forcefully shoved a pillow over Frankie's face. Frankie felt his air cut off, and the man pressed harder and harder. Not heeding his IV's, Frankie's arms shot out and grappled with the man's arm to no avail. His thin teenaged frame was no match for the aggressive musculature of his assassin. With his hands still on the man's arms, Frankie frantically kicked up with all his might, and the knee of his good leg solidly met the hit man's groin. As the man's killing hands fell away from the pillow and grabbed for his aching balls, Frankie fiercely pushed away from the assassin and jabbed his hands toward the man's waist, feeling for a gun. His fingers met solid metal and he pulled the gun out, simultaneously kicking his leg to punch his foot into the man's vulnerable gut. Frankie stared in panic at the gun, which had a long, wicked silencer screwed onto its end. He jumped upright on his bed, with his injured leg held at an odd, useless angle, and aimed at the man's feet, squeezing the trigger three times, causing the man dance backwards to avoid the bullets in what looked like a bizarre variation of the moonwalk. The gun made only a sharp sliver sound, but the harsh impact of the bullets on the hard floor sent sparks and small smoke puffs up into the air. Frankie let out a loud yell of fear and survival and aimed his shaking hand at the man's stomach, squeezing the trigger with deadly intent, but missing and hitting his thigh instead. The man screamed as he hit the floor, and the Russian guard rushed into the room to the sight of Frankie shaking like a leaf with eyes as big as saucers and a pseudo-janitor with wingtip shoes rolling back and forth on the floor in bloody agony.

Frankie looked like he was doing a victory dance on top of his bed when in reality he was twitching violently with the adrenaline taking over his body and freeing his mind from all reason. He held the gun in a death grip, unable to let go of his only protection.

The Russian walked over to the hit man and pulled him to his feet, placing his massive arm around his neck and dragging him away from Frankie. The man's mustache was falling off of his pain-filled face, and his red-splattered blond wig draped lifelessly on the floor. He slapped desperately at his injured thigh, filling his hands with blood.

"What's going on here?"

Johnny strode into Frankie's room and looked on in horror at the bloody scene, uncertain if Frankie were hurt. Mrs. DeMarco followed behind him with her mouth open and a shocked look on her face. "Frankie?" he asked as he carefully approached the boy. Frankie raised the gun and pointed it directly at Johnny's chest while his finger hesitated on the trigger. Mrs. DeMarco shrank back against the doorframe.

"Whoa!" Johnny exclaimed with his hands held up. "Frankie? It's Johnny."

Frankie stared at Johnny without recognizing his bodyguard. He continued to shake and frowned as he tried to engage his brain and understand what was going on around him. His mouth was hanging open, and he'd lost all color.

Johnny stepped slowly out of Frankie's range, trying to approach him from the side and grab the gun away from him. Frankie didn't recognize the motion and continued to stare where Johnny had stood. He squeezed the trigger and released a bullet that promptly whizzed by Johnny's shoulder and lodged into the far wall. Mrs. DeMarco jumped and yelped as she held her hand over her heart. Frankie dropped to his knees with his shoulders slumped over and promptly fell over onto his side, never making a sound the whole time. Johnny leaped closer to the bed and quickly removed the gun from Frankie's nonresistant hand. He handed off the gun to Mrs. DeMarco and said, "Deep six it." She nodded wisely and slipped the weapon into her large purse. "Just like da old days with my Joseph," she stated sensibly. She turned and walked swiftly from the room, intending to wipe the gun off and throw it into the river that ran close to General Hospital. The Russian guard still held the struggling, injured hit man.

A startled nurse entered the room and stared at the bleeding hit man and collapsed patient on the bed. "Send someone to accompany the Russian to the emergency room. The man's been hurt," Johnny instructed the nurse with an authoritative tone. He nodded to the Russian and made a motion with his hands to indicate that he should keep a grip on the hit man. "And send a doctor to this room." Johnny turned his attention to Frankie who was still shaking, but newly cold and clammy with a stunned expression on his face. "Hey, boss," he said gently as he sat on the bed and laid his hand on Frankie's arm. "What happened here? Did that man try to hurt you? Was that his gun you had?"

The cold sweat drenched Frankie's hair and ran in wet rivulets down his white face. He continued to jerk and remained unresponsive to Johnny's attempts at getting him to talk. Johnny noticed that his IV's were ripped out, and that the blood ran thickly down Frankie's forearm. Johnny turned Frankie so that he could survey his chest and abdomen, checking to make sure that he hadn't been hurt. He ran his hands over his boss's arms and legs, but found no evidence of any type of new wound. He turned him back on his side. "You're okay," he said reassuringly to the boy, but was becoming more worried by the second. He pulled a sheet over Frankie's shivering form and stroked his arm. "It's going to be all right," he said soothingly.

~*~*~*~

Johnny stood beside Frankie's bed with his arms crossed and his face serious. "So you're telling me that he's basically unharmed."

The physician nodded. "He's showing evidence of exhaustion from overexertion and an emotional trauma of some type, but he's stable." His eyes dropped to the smeared blood on the floor, not far from his feet. "What happened in here?" he asked with wariness as he gazed intently at Johnny.

"This patient is under guard, and security was breached,' Johnny explained without revealing any detail. "An altercation took place in here, which is likely why the boy was left in this condition. We'll be investigating what actually happened and who is responsible."

The physician seemed to accept Johnny's authoritative demeanor, assuming that he was a law enforcement official, and let the matter pass. He shook his head as he carefully stepped around the pool of blood. "Whatever," he muttered. "The nurses have an order for a sedative if needed when the boy comes to his senses."

"Thanks," Johnny replied as he regarded the man's retreating back. He focused his full attention back on Frankie. "Hey, kid," he said in a jovial manner, trying to engage Frankie and bring him to a normal level of awareness. He talked to Frankie for several minutes, teasing him to get a rise out of the boy. Johnny's eyes softened as he watched Frankie. "Mrs. DeMarco is here in town with me," he informed him. "She'll want to visit with you when she returns. She took the gun so you don't have to worry about that. She wasn't married to Joseph for forty-five years for nothing. Take the apron and cookies away from her, and she's a mob wife at heart, tried and true." Johnny ran his hand down Frankie's arm. "Come on, Frankie," he said. "Tell me what happened." He shook the boy's shoulder and watched as Frankie's brow knitted in confusion. Frankie uttered a few sounds and said, "No."

Frankie's hands tapped the bed beside him, and he sat up abruptly with a sick expression on his worried face. He looked down at the elephants and peanuts on his gown and slowly ran his right hand over the cartoons as if he were trying to figure out where he was and what was going on. He frowned and his mouth turned down as his eyes flooded with hot tears. "He made me. He made me do it," he said in a vacant voice that sounded as if he were narrating a movie or a scene that he'd witnessed in the past. "I didn't wanna do it," he protested weakly. "Frank was da one who took my hand. It wasn't my fault." Frankie's eyes moved to the red blood on the floor, and he moaned. "Ohhhhhh," he panted as he held his stomach and turned green. Johnny immediately reached for a plastic receptacle and handed it to Frankie, who promptly turned away and vomited repeatedly with violent nausea. Johnny waited until he was sure that Frankie was done, and then removed the receptacle. He stroked the boy's hair and said softly, "Do you remember what happened?"

Frankie blinked rapidly as his mind began reactivating. "Johnny?" he whispered. "Is dat you?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Johnny stated firmly. "What's going on, boss?" he asked, hoping that Frankie would kick into business mode.

Frankie's face protectively hardened into a mask that gave him a mean, seasoned look. "Da beatnik. Dose shoes," he said disjointedly. He lay his head back on the pillow and sighed. "Da assassin," he stated definitely. "Dat bastard tried to off me. He was smothering me. I fought back and grabbed his gun." Frankie's eyes took on a fuzzy, distant aspect as he continued. "My finger, it pulled da trigger. Moonwalk."

Johnny frowned in his attempts to figure out what Frankie was relating to him. "Moonwalk? What's that, boss?"

"Dance, bastard, dance." Frankie raised his arm as if he still had the gun in hand and contracted his index finger three times. Johnny's eyes drifted back to the floor, where three bullets were imbedded and figured out what Frankie was trying to tell him. Frankie's arm dropped back down to the bed, and he opened and closed his mouth several times without saying anything. He turned his head and began trembling.

Johnny figured out that shooting the hit man and witnessing the spurting blood had traumatized Frankie. He patted Frankie's shoulder. "You did good," he praised. "It was self-defense - cut and dry. It's not your fault."

Johnny frowned worriedly when Frankie began frantically wiping his hands on his blanket and making scared sounds. "Too many bodies," Frankie's voice quivered. "Dey'res too many of 'em. They won't go away." Johnny took hold of Frankie's hands and held them up. "See?" he said. "Clean. They're clean. Frank's hands were dirty, not yours."

Frankie stared at his hands and then at Johnny, but the shadow that haunted his face didn't leave, and the light in his eyes dimmed. He turned his head and stared straight ahead. Johnny looked gratefully at Mrs. DeMarco when she entered the room and nodded at him in confirmation that the gun had been disposed of. He walked over to her and whispered, "He's pretty upset about the shooting. It was a hit man, and he shot him in self-defense, but he seems to be reliving memories of Frank. Would you sit with him and try to comfort him? I'm going down to the ER to see what information I can rustle up concerning this hit man." Johnny walked back over to Frankie's bed. "I'm going to secure the situation, but I'll be back. Have a good visit with Mrs. DeMarco."

Johnny instinctively patted the gun in his shoulder holster and left the room. Mrs. DeMarco walked around the bed to avoid the pool of blood and pulled up a chair.

~*~*~*~

"So now you're a baby killer, Otto?" Johnny gritted out in a low dangerous tone. He wrapped his fingers in the injured hit man's hair and pulled back hard. He pressed his elbow over Otto's windpipe. "How does it feel to be lying defenseless in a hospital with a man intending to kill you?" Johnny's furious green eyes met Otto's shocked, pain-filled brown ones. "Give me names or these will be your last minutes on earth," Johnny promised with his teeth bared in a grimace.

Otto gurgled, unable to speak with the harsh pressure on his throat. Johnny eased up, and the man coughed and panted for breath. Johnny looked around cautiously, aware that this patient would be alone for only a minute or two. Otto was prepped for surgery to repair his damaged thigh and was lying on a gurney until an OR was available. "Speak now or die," Johnny said hurriedly. He yanked the man's hair viciously, and Otto made a squeal. Johnny whispered harshly. "Caruso and Manetti are dead. Who's up to bat?"

"Donado," the hit man strangled out. "There's too many. You'll never be able to stop 'em."

"Yeah, but I can stop you," Johnny threatened. "Should I kill you? What's in it for me if I don't?"

"Don't kill me," pleaded Otto. "You don't hafta kill me. I'll go underground, you'll never hear from me again."

"Gimme more information," Johnny said as he slapped the man's injured thigh.

"Da base is in New York City," Otto whimpered. "Caruso was a plant with the Mafia. They want the Smith business and mean to take it."

"Good, better," Johnny complimented as he patted Otto's cheek. He looked into Otto's eyes and said, "Sorry." Johnny took his other hand and used to brutally force Otto's neck to the side, effectively fracturing it in a fatal move. Johnny moved away from the gurney, straightened his shoulders and turned to walk away. Outside the room, he motioned with his head for the Russian to follow him.

~*~*~*~

"Baby?" Mrs. DeMarco asked. She reached for Frankie's hand and patted it. "Johnny brought me here. I've been real worried about you. But you're like da cat - got dose nine lives, dontcha?"

Frankie remained sad and still, but he managed a slight smile and said, "Mrs. DeMarco. I missed ya." His eyes filled with tears that he didn't bother to blink away.

"I hear you got a whole new family,' Mrs. DeMarco exclaimed. "Dat must be so exciting for ya. I know you always wanted a big family and now you got you one. Ain't life grand? You're also an honorary DeMarco," she reminded him with a wag of her finger. "Dontcha forget dat. We won't let ya go dat easily. Not our Frankie-boy." She reached out and pinched him on the cheek.

Frankie smiled sadly like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Thanks," he sighed. "Frankie DeMarco, dat's me."

"Yeah," Mrs. DeMarco said lovingly as she ran the back of her hand down his cheek. "You're my baby boy. Nothin's gonna change dat."

~*~*~*~

The Russian had called Stefan soon after he'd dragged the hit man down to the ER, and Stefan showed up at the hospital at the same time as Luke and Alexis. Stefan's face was gray and drawn, and Alexis looked at him curiously as they walked down the hall together toward ICU 5. "Is something wrong?" she asked curiously.

Stefan's lips tightened before he spoke. "Yes," he said tersely. Luke looked at him in alarm. "What's going on?" he questioned.

"Someone tried to murder your son," Stefan stated frankly. "There was a shooting in the room. The hit man was injured. That's all I know."

"Ohmigod!" Luke and Alexis exclaimed simultaneously. Luke increased his pace, and Stefan and Alexis had a hard time keeping up with him.

Luke reached the room first with Stefan and Alexis following close behind. Mrs. DeMarco was sitting with Frankie, holding his hand. Luke exclaimed loudly when he saw the pool of blood on the floor. "What?" His eyes moved to the woman beside his son, and he asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm Mrs. DeMarco," she replied calmly.

"Well, I'm Frankie's father," Luke said firmly. "What's going on here?"

Mrs. DeMarco nodded and flickered her eyes. "Someone tried to hurt da boy," she said. "Dat man's been taken care of."

Alexis looked curiously at Mrs. DeMarco. The boy's only mother figure. Now we know where he obtained his accent. Interesting. She seems very motherly, yet is chillingly calm in the face of all this violence.

Johnny entered the room, and all eyes turned toward him. "We need to move Frankie out of this hospital, pronto. The Mafia are after him, and they won't stop if they know where he is. Where can we take him?"

"Wyndemere," Stefan stated decisively with a nod of his head. "We'll set up two ambulances. One for Frankie, the other for necessary medical equipment."

Luke's face reddened and he ran his fingers distractedly through his hair as he glared at Johnny, sure that the man wasn't telling them the whole story. He wanted Frankie with him, but he and Alexis were living out of two apartments and without an established household. "Okay - for now," Luke said.

"Time is crucial," Johnny said tensely. "Let's transport him within twenty minutes - before the police hit the scene."

Next chapter...