Fallen Angel - TOC

Chapter Forty

Luke and Johnny were dressed in the borrowed uniforms of General Hospital orderlies. One man was stationed at the head of the gurney, while the other manned the foot. They wheeled a body covered with a white sheet into a waiting elevator, which unfortunately contained one passenger, an elderly man with an unquenchable curiosity born of boredom. The wizened little man looked from the gurney to Luke's face and back to the sheet-covered body. Luke gave the man an intense "don't bother me" look, and Johnny asked him to press the button for the basement.

The old man pressed the lighted "B" button and gazed at them with a raised, white-haired eyebrow. "Morgue?" he asked. Johnny shrugged and looked nonchalant while Luke remained silent. As the elevator was moving down the floors, the sheet over the body stirred slightly, causing the old man to jump. "It moved!" he exclaimed in a trembling voice.

"Rigor mortis," Luke stated tersely.

A brief, wheezy moan emerged from beneath the sheet and caused it to ripple over where the head seemed to be. "What was that?" the old man hissed. "Are you sure he's dead?"

"Deader than a doornail," Johnny replied vigorously.

Luke nodded. "The vocal cords relax sometimes. It happens," he sniffed as he inspected his fingernails.

When the elevator finally reached the first floor, the old man fairly raced out of the elevator car, shaking his head and muttering about crazy people.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, the rich sound of two men's laughter rang throughout the car. "Oh, you're good," Johnny commented as he ran his hand under his nose and shook his head.

"We make pretty good partners," Luke responded appreciatively as his eyes twinkled. When the body moaned again, Luke lifted the sheet to inspect. "I thought he was given enough sedative to knock him out. Shhhhh," he instructed the waking corpse. "We're trying to get you out of here alive. Be quiet."

"Can't keep Frankie down for long," Johnny replied firmly. "He likes to be in on the action."

~*~*~*~

The doors of an ambulance were open and waiting on the back loading docks, and the gurney with a white-sheeted body was rapidly wheeled into the vehicle. Luke hopped on board next to the gurney, while Johnny jumped into the driver's seat of the ambulance and turned the ignition. Luke and the medical personnel slammed the back doors shut, and the ambulance raced off with its siren blasting.

Luke and the medical resident personally selected by Stefan Cassadine lifted the sheet from Frankie's face to reveal the heavily sedated boy. Frankie's forehead was wrinkled into a tense frown, anxiety written all over him. His chest rose unevenly, and his breaths came hoarse and raspy.

"Is he going to be okay?" Luke looked back and forth from his son to the resident.

The resident nodded. "He needs oxygen," he stated firmly as he reached for the equipment and looped the tubing around Frankie's neck while gently picking up his head. He fiddled with the equipment before pausing to smile at Luke. "My name's Jerry by the way," he said as he extended his hand toward Luke. "That's short for Jeremiah," he laughed, shaking his head. Luke shook the offered hand, but frowned when Frankie made a few protesting noises.

"He doesn't like to be touched without permission," Luke explained. "He's skittish that way."

Jerry nodded. "Sure." He checked on the boy's IV connections and applied a blood pressure cuff without bothering Frankie too much.

Luke pulled the Cookie Monster puppet from his pocket and chuckled. You and me, Cookie. We've been through a lot this week. He stroked the toy's soft fur, and then tucked it under Frankie's arm. What am I going to do with this kid? he thought to himself as he rubbed his forehead. I love him more than life itself, but I don't have a clue how to be his father. I've only known him for a week, but the more I find out about his life with Frank, the more my blood runs cold.

Frankie coughed repeatedly and shook his head. "No," he muttered. "Get away."

Frankie became increasingly enmeshed in a combination of dreams and recollections of events similar to the hit man's shooting. The past reached out its monstrous, hairy hand and grabbed him firmly by the wrist, refusing to let him go.

*** Frankie was back at the mansion and wandering around its halls, befuddled at the number of doors lining the walls. There were things behind those doors, and he knew he wouldn't like what he saw if he opened them. His palms itched fiercely, and no amount of rubbing them on his pants would soothe the fire spreading on his skin. Looking down, he saw that they were stained red, dripping thickly with blood, and his pants were covered by their bleary streaks. "Get offa me," he yelled in a fearful voice edged with hysteria. He trudged regretfully along the mansion halls, frantically wiping the blood onto the walls, but only succeeding in smearing long marks along the way. His palms kept filling with blood as if they were reservoirs of pain and death.

"Johnny!" he called out forlornly. "Where are you? Mrs. DeMarco? Help me!" He panted with fear as he heard the heavy, leaden footsteps behind him, and he slapped at the walls frantically. "Don't make me go back. Let me stay here!" he cried out. "Don't leave me!" As the footsteps grew nearer, his heart pounded so hard he thought it would burst. He dashed down the hallway, pausing to open up doors to ask for help, but every door he opened offered a new horror in the nature of a funhouse from hell. Body after dead body laughed and jeered at him, dancing disjointedly like marionette puppets, mocking him for his deadly deeds. Frankie flung open a door, and Caruso and Pankey laughed and hooted at him as they slapped one another on the back and spurted blood out of the holes in their heads. "Da Mafia, dey're gonna get ya, kid! You're just as dead as we are." Running to the next door, Frankie saw Manetti and Butch in a deathly embrace. "Calamari?" Manetti offered with a bloody fork twirled under Frankie's nose.

"Somebody help me, please!" Frankie called out desperately, but no one came. He knew that the deadly footsteps belonged to Frank, and they were getting closer and closer. When he flung open one door, heaps of bodies tumbled out over one another in a mass grave that groaned and heaved with the weight of piled up flesh. Frankie screamed with huge eyes and an open mouth as he backed away from the teeming bodies clawing their way towards him. "Eliminate the competition," they shrieked in unison as a chorus of pain and anguish. "Complete the mission. Leave no witnesses. Kill the middleman. Take the business."

Frankie tried to run down the hall but found that the oriental carpets were as sticky as flypaper with no intention of releasing their prey. He pulled hard on his legs, trying to lift them from the mire, but only succeeded in moving several steps away from the ever-plodding, relentless footsteps that had his name on them.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he pleaded and begged, whipping his head left and right to find an escape. "Don't hurt me!" He could no longer move his feet and legs, so he shook violently as he saw the huge Frank giant rounding the corner and malevolently glowering at him. The giant pointed a finger at him and spoke in a voice that sounded like thunder, "Nothing but a hood, a royal screwup. I love you, but you have to die. You're not good enough to be my son."

Frankie looked up to the ceiling. "Johnny, pleeeeease. Come get me. Take me outta here." The chorus of dead bodies continued to wail and moan as background music as Frank neared Frankie, the oppressive shadow of his large body obliterating the vision of his young son. Frankie screamed as he saw the large hand raise and curl into a fist that he knew would crush him. He lifted his arms protectively and cowered as he felt the rush of air and darkened shadows signaling the fist's swift descent. ***

Luke was watching his son flinch and sweat as he moved around on the gurney, but he couldn't figure out what was bothering him. Is he having a bad dream? At the identical time that Luke decided to place a reassuring hand on his son, Frankie let out a very loud, tortured scream that reverberated against the metal surfaces within the ambulance and shocked two grown men to the core of their bones and ringing ears. Frankie continued to scream and thrashed around as if he were trying to run but getting nowhere in a hurry. The sheet and blanket covering him and the buckle of the retraining strap seemed to make him increasingly wild as he tried to get away from what was in his mind. Luke and the resident held onto him with Luke taking his shoulders, and Jerry restraining his legs.

Luke's eyes bugged, and he shouted, "What in God's name is going on?"

"I have no idea," Jerry gritted out as he tried to keep the kid still. "Some kind of a dream or terror I'm guessing. I have some more sedative in my bag."

~*~*~*~

Nikolas was standing at his window, surveying the generous front lawn that comprised a portion of Wyndemere's estate. His hands were folded stiffly behind his back, and his posture bespoke a patrician, man of the manor aspect as he inspected what would one day be his through a rich inheritance and tradition. It was nearly time to attend to Sheba, and he had every intention of riding her before noon, but for now, Nikolas was content to relax and let his mind wander.

I wonder what Athena is doing? It's been nearly two weeks since we've been together. Nikolas sighed and rubbed his head. It's kind of hard being horny and having a girlfriend that's thousands of miles away. Maybe we can arrange to have her visit Wyndemere. Only, it'd be harder to keep our relationship a secret under the watchful eyes of my father. Mother? She wouldn't notice a thing. She's too involved with the baby and her decorating projects, not to mention the newest family brat. How in the world did my mother and Luke produce that idiot? I thought Luke had more class than that.

Nikolas startled to attention when he heard the sirens approaching the house. What in the world is going on? Which emergency vehicle is that? Is there a kitchen fire? Nikolas' mind raced with the possibilities as his tense hand gripped the blue velvet curtain that framed the gothic arched, leaded windows of his bedroom. His fingers tightened around the delicate fabric, making permanent dark indentations in the expensive blue plush. It's an ambulance! Who's hurt? Nikolas glanced back toward the door, intending to run down to his parents' suite, but curiosity won out, and he opted to stay and see who emerged from the vehicle. Why didn't anyone tell me about this? What's going on?

The ambulance stopped at the end of the front drive, and a tall, well-built man leaped quickly out of the driver's side of the vehicle, walking around the back and opening the double doors. He backed up, and helped another man pull a gurney out of the ambulance. Nikolas squinted his eyes to get a better view, but his window was too far away to make out who the patient was. Why are they bringing a sick person to the house? As soon as that thought emerged from his mind, he said, "Oh, shit," out loud at the same time as he saw Luke hop from the ambulance. "That little creep. Don't tell me he's coming here." What's the deal? I thought he was still connected to every medical device known to man. Why doesn't he just stay in that ICU? I know mother and father discussed having him here in the future, but why didn't they say anything about this. I'm going to find out what's going on. Nikolas flung aside the curtain as his eyes narrowed and his fists clenched in anger. He strode toward the door and slammed it behind him as he stepped out into the hall.

Nikolas walked down the hall, pausing at Lulu's nursery to see if she were okay. He saw the nanny rocking her in the chair and felt satisfied that she was in good hands. He strolled further down the hallway to the suite where he knew his parents were contemplating placing Frankie. He poked his head in the doorway and saw that there was a hospital bed set up, but no other medical equipment. He walked around the room, but didn't see any other evidence of inhabitation. Loud voices and a flurry of movement in the hallway interrupted his inspection. He stepped aside to the far end of the room, away from the hospital bed, when he saw Luke. Luke's eyes registered Nikolas' presence, and he smiled at the boy. "Nikolas, your father is on his way. He'll explain everything," he stated to reassure him. Behind Luke, two men that Nikolas didn't recognize wheeled in his much-reviled half brother.

Frankie was lying in what appeared to be an unconscious state, his head limply turned to the side of his pillow. Nikolas noted the anxious, agitated set of his face and wondered why he looked like that. One man set up the bed, lowering the rails and adjusting it so that it lay flat. "We'll use the blankets on the gurney to cover him," he said. "Let's transfer him."

Johnny pulled back the sheet and blankets, and Nikolas flinched at the sight of Frankie's rigorously black and blue leg that was positioned at an odd angle from his body. Looks like that hurts. "Luke, you grab his IV and catheter bags while we lift him," Johnny instructed. Frankie wasn't making any attempt to help the two men lift him. Johnny supported his head, but Frankie's arms uselessly hung down from his body, and he made guttural noises that seemed to protest being moved. "Got everything," Luke said helpfully as he lay the medical materials on the bed beside his motionless son. The medical resident hung the IV bags on a metal pole, saying, "When is that other ambulance arriving? He needs to be hooked back up to his monitors."

"It should be here in a minute," Luke said. "What are we going to do with his hip? They had his leg elevated and packed in ice. Does he still need that?"

The resident nodded. "He shouldn't need the ice anymore, but the hip must remain immobile." He motioned for Johnny to bring the oxygen to the side of the bed and adjusted the apparatus on Frankie's face. Frankie grunted insensibly and feebly waved his arms in the direction of the annoyance as if chasing away a fly from his nose.

The resident looked up with relief when several men began wheeling in other medical equipment including a cardiac monitor. Nikolas stayed flattened against the wall, watching this process with fascination of someone staring at a car wreck. The cardiac monitor was positioned to one side of the bed, and Frankie's gown pulled down, exposing the numerous sutures and scars, past and present, that littered his chest. Oh yuck, Nikolas thought. What the hell happened to him? The leads were placed on Frankie's chest, and the machine lighted up with the regular rhythm of his beating heart. The resident placed an automatic blood pressure cuff on his arm so that a reading could be established every fifteen minutes. A pulse oximeter was placed on his finger, and then the boy was covered with a sheet and blanket.

"He still looks sick," Nikolas said to Luke as he pointed to the bed. "Why isn't he in the hospital?"

"It's not safe for him there," Luke stated flatly. "Your father will give you the details." Luke looked at his new nephew and placed a fatherly hand on his back. "I know all of this is a shock to your system, Nik, but it'll work out. We'll make sure of it." Nikolas smiled when his nervous brown eyes met his uncle's kind blue ones. He relaxed a fraction in Luke's presence. "Everything is just happening so quickly. I feel like my head is spinning."

"You and me both," Luke stated as he shook his head. "Frankie is going to sleep for awhile. Why don't you and I go find a soft drink and chill for a moment?" Nikolas nodded. "I'll show you to the kitchen."

"Luke," Johnny called out. "I'm going to run a few errands and then tell Bobbie what's going on. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Bring Sly back with you when you return if that's okay," Luke suggested. Johnny nodded. He's pretty cool, he thought. Frankie did well in having Luke for a father.

~*~*~*~

"Aaaaah!" Luke drained the last of his Coca-Cola and slapped the empty red can down onto the kitchen counter. He looked around his surroundings, noting the stainless steel, commercial appliances. "Do you often lose yourself in here, Nikky-boy?"

Nikolas took a careful sip from his can of Coke and shrugged. "I try to avoid the kitchen. The cook has a fit if you mess with his operations. I only come down here for the occasional snack or drink." He held the can of soda pop away from him as he shook it to determine how much was left. "My father hasn't returned home yet. Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Nikolas' almond-shaped brown eyes swept over his new uncle, trying to read what was up.

Luke smiled at Nikolas' question. He'd been accustomed to a fourteen year old Sly and now a fifteen year old Frankie. Nikolas was no child. He was intelligent, observant and tenacious, much like his father. He'd asked Luke a question and now he expected an answer.

Luke regarded his tall, well-built nephew, and stated, "First you need to discuss with me why you don't get along with your new half-brother. I've heard his side of the story, what's yours?"

Nikolas looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an approaching car. His posture stiffened, and he grew more formal. "I don't appreciate having my personal property molested," he sniffed.

Luke tried awfully hard not to laugh at Nikolas' word choices, and he succeeded. With only a small, twitching smile, he replied, "Scratches on car doors can be fixed. Send me the bill." He waved his hand in the air. "Voila, that problem is taken care of. Any others?"

Nikolas frowned. He saw the logic in Luke's answer, but wasn't ready to concede. He crossed his arms. "I don't like his personality," he said, scowling. "At all."

"And that's a reason to hate someone?" Luke questioned.

"Well, he doesn't like me either," Nikolas protested. He raised his eyebrows, daring Luke to refute his point.

Luke shuffled his feet and looked down at the floor. "Well, no he doesn't. And it's no more mature or acceptable on his part either. You don't have to like each other, just find a way to get along. That's a very important life lesson and very adult behavior." Luke's blue eyes stared Nikolas down, and the young man blushed.

"He pointed a gun at me, you know," Nikolas added for emphasis.

Luke nodded. "I know. And, that's partly why he's in his current dilemma. There's never an excuse for threatening violence - with guns or fists." Luke paused. "Isn't that right, Nikolas?"

Nikolas shifted from his position leaning against the counter to hunt through the refrigerator for a carrot. He knew he'd been busted for roughing up Frankie, but wasn't willing to admit it. "Yeah, yeah," he signed. "Keep your hands to yourself."

"Everything I need to know in life I learned in kindergarten," Luke agreed. "You know, you are nearly three years older than Frankie. Try to remember what it was like to be fifteen years old. Maybe you'll understand him better then. It's up to you to act more maturely and not meet him at his level."

"Unless he's a psycho," Nikolas muttered under his breath.

Luke caught his words, but ignored them, shaking his head. Cain and Abel. In a death grip to the end. "Okay, Nik. Here' your explanation. Someone tried to kill Frankie today. The Mafia sent a hit man after him. Let's just say that your father decided it was time for Frankie to leave the hospital. Wyndemere has plenty of room, so this was the logical location for him to stay. Alexis and I haven't finalized arrangements for purchasing a house and neither of us has room for Frankie in our respective apartments. Plus, Wyndemere is heavily secured."

"Why would the Mafia want to kill him?" Nikolas questioned. "He's a twerp. He can't be that important."

Luke didn't want to get into the details of Frankie's illegalities with a brother who hated him, so he settled for a simpler explanation. "His adoptive father was a mob kingpin. He owned many businesses, and the Mafia grew jealous. They decided to take over, and Frankie got in the way. They want to remove him."

Nikolas knew that wasn't the full explanation, but he let it go. He'd ask his father more questions later. "Okay," he said. "Thanks, Luke."

Luke frowned. "Where's your mother? She needs to know that Frankie is here. Did Stefan tell her?"

Nikolas shook his head. "I don't think so. Mother is at a charity function today. It started this morning, and she's not expected to return until this evening." Nikolas threw his Coke can into the recycle bin under the center island and turned for the back door as he placed the carrot in his pocket. "I need to take care of my horse," he explained to Luke. "I'll see you later."

"Okay, Nikolas. If you ever want to talk about the situation between you and your brother, don't hesitate to give me a call."

Nikolas glanced at Luke curiously, surprised by his easygoing, open demeanor, so different from his own father. "Sure," he said, smiling. Luke's pretty cool. Too bad Frankie is his son.

~*~*~*~

Bobbie cautiously looked out of the peephole in her front door. She smiled when she saw the tall, good-looking man on the other side of the door, and hurriedly unlocked it.

"Johnny!"

"Hi, babe," Johnny said as he entered the house. As soon as the door closed, he wrapped his arms around Bobbie and hugged her tightly next to his muscular body. Bobbie grew worried when she felt the tension radiating from him.

"What's wrong?" she asked as she searched his face for clues to his distress. Johnny had dark circles under his eyes, and his features looked heavy and worn. Bobbie took hold of his hand and led him into the living room. "Let's sit down."

Johnny sat down on the couch beside Bobbie and leaned forward with his head in his hands. "I killed somebody this morning," he said in a leaden voice. Bobbie's eyes grew wide, and she swallowed slowly. "Why?" she asked quietly. "What happened?"

Johnny repeatedly ran his hands through his hair as he sighed. "The Mafia sent a hit man after Frankie. Frankie grabbed hold of his gun and shot him. In the emergency room, I…I took care of him. He won't be after the kid anymore."

"Oh, Johnny," Bobbie said tearfully. She ran her hand over Johnny's soft hair. "How's Frankie? Was he hurt?" Bobbie felt a wave of fear run over her as her racing mind considered the possibilities.

Johnny ran a hand over his face and shook his head. "I don't know," he whispered. "Physically, the hit man wasn't able to harm him." He paused, and the silence grew in the living room, seemingly choking out the oxygen from the air. Johnny cleared his throat. "Frankie shot the man in self defense, but his reactions are off. He was kind of stunned and shocked. He didn't snap out of it for at least half an hour, and then we had to sedate him to transport him out of the hospital. He's at Wyndemere now. His stepfather, Stefan Cassadine, is trying to calm things down at the hospital. But Frankie…" Johnny shook his head again. "He was screaming his head off in the ambulance. I could hear him all the way up front in the driver's seat." He looked deeply into Bobbie's eyes, drinking in her warmth and sensitivity. "When's it going to end? It has to end. I can't take it anymore." He choked on his own words, and Bobbie didn't reply, but pulled him down into her lap, holding his head as she ran her fingers gently through his hair. "Shhh," she said to soothe him. "Shhhh."

The couple remained like that for minutes, Johnny silently crying and Bobbie trying to comfort him. Eventually, Johnny sighed and sat up straight on the couch. He wiped at his eyes and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry for blubbering on you," he commented. Bobbie smiled and patted him on the arm. "You earned it."

"You know, my father was a physician," Johnny stated. "I was supposed to follow in his footsteps."

Bobbie looked surprised. "Really?"

Johnny nodded and looked off into space as he recalled a different time and place. "He was well respected in the community, but they didn't see him at home." Johnny's face set and looked angry. "My parents had a real interesting marriage. My father liked to beat on my mother, and she liked to take it. Two peas in a pod. I got tired of watching it and being ignored, so I started running away from home and fell into a bad crowd. I was in and out of juvy for about two years in high school, but then I settled down some. I actually started college - got good grades, too. My father wouldn't pay for it, though, because I wasn't pre-med. I wanted to be a paramedic. And, I didn't want to be in school for even four years let alone eight or ten. I had my own apartment on campus, but had a hard time making ends meet." Johnny's jaw clenched and made a muscle in his cheek ripple. "Unfortunately, I ran into an old buddy of mine from juvy, and the rest is history. Johnny Callahan stole his first and only automobile. We got caught and sent to prison because of our previous records. I caught the attention of Frank Smith's recruiters while in prison, and the rest is history." Johnny folded his hands and looked down at the floor.

Bobbie placed her hand on Johnny's chin and turned his face toward her. "I think you'd make a splendid paramedic," she said softly and sincerely. She placed a hand on his chest and moved her fingers in a tracing pattern. "You're intelligent, caring, athletic." Johnny's hurt green eyes brightened a notch. He gave her a small smile and leaned in for a long, passionate kiss. Johnny appreciatively stroked Bobbie's long auburn curls, twirling them between his long fingers. Tender feelings turned to passion, and he lowered the full length of his body over Bobbie's receptive warmth.

~*~*~*~

Luke was sitting in a chair beside Frankie's bed reading a book that he'd found in the Cassadine library, a book on the detailed history of WWII military strategies. As he turned the pages, perusing the detailed maps of Normandy and other European locations, his son opened his eyes.

Frankie opened his eyes slowly, and it took him moments to align his vision and register the meaning of his surroundings. Where am I? He felt like he'd been tied down to the train tracks and left for dead. Certainly his aching muscles indicated some kind of an ordeal. He unsuccessfully tried to lift his head from his pillow but lacked the strength to move. Pursing his lips, he let out a long, frustrated sigh.

Luke raised his eyes from his book and laid it on the floor as he rose from his chair. He's finally waking up. What does he remember? He walked into Frankie's line of vision and smiled down at his dazed son. "I'm here, Frankie," his deep voice stated simply. "How are you feeling?" Luke laid a firm hand on Frankie's arm to enforce that he wasn't going anywhere.

Frankie rolled his eyes around, trying to comprehend his situation and surroundings. "Luke?" he asked hesitantly. "Where am I? What's going on?" He felt nervous and unsure of himself, afraid that the authorities had finally caught up with him and hauled him off to jail.

"You're at Wyndemere," Luke said decisively. "That is your mother's and Stefan's house. It's a huge mansion, so they gave you your own suite. Wasn't that nice of them? They bought you a special hospital bed and transferred all of your medical equipment. You're not in the hospital anymore. Are you relieved?"

"I feel funny," Frankie announced with a shaky voice. "What happened to me? How did I get here?"

Luke wasn't sure how much of the hitman incident Frankie had processed or remembered, so he decided to sidestep the issue until Frankie brought it up himself. "We sedated you so that the ride from the hospital would be more comfortable for you. You've been asleep for several hours. It's now afternoon. That's probably why you feel sleepy and disoriented."

"I'm not in jail?" Frankie whispered, looking around the room for cops.

"No, not at all," Luke replied firmly as he took his son's small hand into his own. "We're not going to let them take you," he said. "You have me, Alexis, your mother, Stefan and Johnny in your corner."

"Johnny," Frankie repeated. "Is he here?"

Luke shook his head. "He's running some errands and visiting Bobbie. He'll be back soon. He's the one who helped me take you from the hospital."

Frankie rubbed his lips together as he thought. "Yeah, Johnny's good at dat." He continued staring at Luke, memorizing his features and observing his body language. Luke seemed calm, assured and in charge. He wasn't angry, threatening or out of control. Frankie relaxed and became chattier. "You're always dere, you don't go away," he commented lightly, hoping that Luke would explain his behavior.

Luke smiled and squeezed Frankie's hand. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm your father. My place is with you, and your place is with me. Nothing can change that."

Frankie's eyes grew pensive as he worked up his courage to ask a brave question. "If I let you be my dad, are you gonna beat on me? I can't take no more of dat." Frankie seemed to shrink in size, as he lay tensely on the bed, terrified at the possibilities and uncertain of Luke's answer. He held his breath and stared hard at Luke's face.

Luke's lips tightened into a thin, white line as he tried valiantly not to cry in front of his vulnerable son. He took in a deep breath and began to speak in a calm, measured tone of voice. "Frankie, you lived with me for the entire first year of your life. During that time, I never once hit you, shook you or hurt you in any way. You were the son of my heart, the best thing that ever happened to me, and the nicest present your mother could ever have given me. You had lots of hugs and kisses. In almost every photo that we have of you, you had the biggest smile on your face. Granted, you had no teeth, but you did have a great smile." Luke glanced at Frankie, who gave Luke a tiny smile with tear-filled eyes and a body that shook slightly with tension and suppressed emotion. "Ask your mother to see the photos of your early life," Luke advised. "She has lots of them. And, you know, son, I kept a big portrait of you in my living room. Every day of your life, I looked at your face and was glad that you were my son."

Luke sighed and shifted in his chair, still holding firmly onto Frankie's hand. "As you know, Sylvester has lived with me for two years. I took him in when his father died. I've never hit Sly once in those two years. It's not my style, Frankie. I don't enjoy hurting people. My dad drank a lot when I was a kid growing up. He hit me quite a bit. It made me feel terrible, like I was a loser that nobody could love. I'd never do that to someone else. I think you understand what I mean." Luke studied Frankie's face, and the boy's still facial muscles formed a protective mask, but his big blue eyes betrayed all of his feelings loud and clear. Fear and distrust mixed with longing and understanding. Frankie gave Luke an imperceptible nod. "It would be good for you to have a long talk with Sly," Luke recommended. "Ask him your questions about me, what I'm like as a dad and someone to live with. I think he'll put some of your fears at ease."

Frankie remained silent, blinking back his tears and sniffing. He looked away from Luke, trying to work up his courage to ask what was really concerning him. "I understand about da baby," he choked out. "I like babies, too. But what about me? I'm not a baby no more. What if you don't like me? What are you gonna do?"

Luke laughed lightly as he patted Frankie's hand. "I'm glad you're not a baby," he joked. "I got mighty tired of those poopy diapers." Luke made a face and pinched his nose.

"I didn't make no poopy diaper," Frankie joked back. "I was a special baby."

"I don't know about that," Luke teased. "You'll have to ask your mother." He redirected his comments and looked deeply into his son's eyes. "Frankie, I'm sure there are aspects about me that you won't care for, and there may be facets of your personality that I have trouble with. That's the way it is in life. We all have flaws that annoy other people or ourselves. But, I'm not going to reject you, ridicule you or refuse to speak to you because you do or say something that I don't like. All I ask is that you show me the same respect. Respect is good, don't you think?"

Frankie nodded slowly. "Ya," he replied in confirmation. He shifted on his bed, removed his hand from Luke's and looked uneasy. "You're not gonna call me Lucas or Lucky are you?" he asked with distaste and a screwed up face. I don't like dose names. And Lucky, dat sounds stupid."

Luke laughed and playfully swatted at Frankie's upper arm. "Hey! Lucas is my name. What's wrong with that?"

Frankie shook his head. "No, your name is Luke. Dat's a cool name. I like dat. I just don't like dose other names."

Luke smiled and settled back into his chair, enjoying the conversation with his son. "Here's an alternative," he offered. "You keep your legal name for official documents and the like. You're my son, my namesake. I named you after me. So, officially you're Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior. However, we'll call you Frankie, since that's who you are. No one will ever call you Lucas or Lucky. "How's that?"

Frankie nodded. "Dat's fair. Who came up with dat weird middle name? Sounds Italian."

Luke nodded. "It is Italian. It's my grandmother's maiden name. Her family was Italian."

Frankie gave Luke a wary, cautious look. "Dat's not Sicilian is it?" he tried to clarify.

Luke shook his head. "No Sicilians," he stated firmly. "The family is originally from northern Italy. On the Swiss border."

Relief flooded Frankie's face. "Good, dat's good," he sighed.

"Frankie?" Luke asked carefully. "Will you take my last name as your own? Will you be a Spencer? This way, your first name shows that Frank was the man who brought you up, but my last name says that you're my son and you live with me now. I'd be very happy and proud if you'd be willing to do that." Luke's eyes took on a vulnerable aspect as he waited for his son's reactions. He wanted so badly to have an official endorsement of his parenthood.

Frankie remained silent for a minute as he contemplated the situation. Finally, he smiled broadly. "I like dat," he agreed. "I don't wanna be a Smith no more. I'm gonna sell da bad stuff off and be da legal CEO with a clean name. Dat's good. Okay. I wanna be a Spencer, like you."

Luke's face flooded with relief, and he laughed delightedly in response to his son's words. "Wonderful," he announced with twinkling eyes. "Just wonderful."

Frankie blinked rapidly and asked, "Luke?"

"Yes."

"Um, can I call you Luke for now and den maybe Dad later? I'm not ready to call you dat yet. Please don't be mad." Frankie's voice took on an insecure tone.

"Luke's my name," Luke replied brightly. "I'd love it if you'd call me Dad, but only when you're ready and you're comfortable. Then, it'll be extra special for both of us."

Frankie nodded happily. "Thanks."

"Can I have a hug?" Luke asked respectfully. "I think this excellent discussion calls for a hug, don't you think?"

Frankie nodded happily. "Yeah. Dat's a good idea." His eyes danced as he smiled broadly. Luke pulled his son into his arms as the tears built up into his eyes. "I love you, son." he breathed out joyfully.

~*~*~*~

Sly entered the suite at Wyndemere and looked around curiously before fully entering the room. "Frankie."

Frankie raised his head from his pillow and looked in Sly's direction. His eyes crinkled, and he smiled happily. "Sly! Dat's a surprise. Come in here." Sly approached Frankie's bed and helped him sit up while he placed two extra pillows behind his back for support.

"How's that?"

"Good," said Frankie. "Thanks."

"You're out of the hospital, and you don't seem to be dead," Sly teased. "Last time I saw you a couple of days ago, wow, you were hurting."

"Still am," Frankie conceded. "Only I'm not fixing to die like before. It's getting better."

"I brought you something." Sly reached deep into his coat pocket and produced a CD that he turned back and forth in his hand. "I saw your CD player when I visited you. I thought you might like something different to listen to. You told me you listened Bon Jovi, so I bought you their greatest hits."

Frankie clapped his hands together once. "Cool. Dat's cool. I like dem. Dey're from New Jersey - like me! Thanks, Sly." Frankie accepted the CD and beamed. "Luke'll have to find my CD player. I don't know where it is." Frankie turned the CD around, and read the song list as he giggled to himself. Sly sat down in a chair beside the bed and crossed his legs as a dreamy look invaded his features. Emily was never very far from his thoughts lately.

Frankie's eyes narrowed as he noticed something had changed in his cousin's demeanor. What's dat? He knit his brow together and reviewed the evidence. Sly seemed more self-assured, comfortable in his own body. There was a new twinkle in his eyes, and he seemed preoccupied. As Frankie's mind worked on the problem, a realization hit him and resulted in a sultry smile that started small at the corner of his lips, spreading slowly to a wide grin and a sharp laugh. "Ahahahaha!" Frankie laughed. He pointed a finger at Sly and wagged it. "You got lucky!!! I know it." Frankie started hooting and circling his hands one over the other, then alternately waving one hand or the other in an upper body victory dance. "Go Sly, go Sly!" he chortled.

Sly turned four shades of red and frowned as he shook his head. "What are you talking about?" he muttered as he nervously ran a hand over his hair. But, Frankie's merriment was contagious, and he wasn't able to keep a straight face for long. He folded his arms in an attempt to look cross, but a string of laughter escaped his lips.

"Da date, da date," Frankie said. "You had a date with dat Emily, right?" He raised his eyebrows. "She musta been real good from the way dat you look Mr. Stud Dude."

Sly tightened his lips and shrugged. "We had a date last night," he stated casually, not sure if he wanted to reveal his night of passion to his more experienced cousin.

"Well?" Frankie asked expectantly. "I want da details."

Sly frowned. "It's private," he protested. "We had dinner and went to a movie."

"I bet you don't know da plot, do ya?" Frankie said as he winked at Sly. "Slow hand Sly, he's da guy."

"Gee whiz, Frankie. You have sex on the brain."

"Wrong body part," Frankie laughed. "Oh, man, dat Maxie came to see me in da ICU dis morning. We had da snuggle session. Fell asleep until da dragon nurse from hell broke in and messed up my action. Fuckin' bitch."

Sly shook his head at Frankie's easy profanities. He cussed more than anyone else Sly knew. "Frankie, why are you always saying those words?" Sly asked curiously. "Everything with you is fuck this or fuck that."

Frankie looked defensive. "So what? Dat's how everybody talks. What else am I supposed to say? I'm a man. Dat's da way a man talks."

"Uncle Luke doesn't cuss unless he stubs a toe or bangs his finger with a hammer," Sly pointed out.

Frankie remained silent, unsure of how to reply to that statement. He recalled Luke's suggestion that he question Sly about him. "What else does he do when he's mad?" he asked warily. Frankie's intent eyes bore into Sly's confused ones.

"What do you mean?"

"So does he hit you and stuff?" Frankie asked in a quiet, careful voice. He didn't want to reveal anything about himself in the process of questioning Sly. "Um, what if you talk back to him?"

Sly's face looked totally confused. "No," he scoffed. "Uncle Luke's not like that. He has a temper, but he doesn't take it out on me. He's never hit me. Neither did Bill, my dad that died. Uncle Luke might yell at me, but usually he makes me go to my room or takes away my allowance or something I like to do - won't let me watch television for example. Things like that. It's not bad."

"Oh." Frankie replied lightly. "Does he call you names? Or tell you you're no good? Try to make you feel bad?" He started nervously picking at his nails as he waited for Sly's answer.

"He's been real nice to me. Better to me than I've been to him," Sly asserted. "He tries to make me feel good about myself. Tells me I'm smart or nice." Sly observed Frankie's extreme discomfort with the subject at hand and Frankie's nervous movements, including the facial tic that made his eye twitch occasionally. "Was Frank mean to you?" Sly asked sincerely. "You seem upset."

Frankie opened his mouth, then thought better of it, and closed it firmly. His lips turned into a thin white line with his efforts at suppressing his emotions in front of his friend. He tore at his palm so hard with a thumbnail that it welled with blood and started a slow, thin trickle down his hand. Frankie's eyes locked in on the blood, and his eyes took on a hazy aspect. He shuddered and then looked up at Sly briefly before lowering his eyes again. "I just don't want no dad at all if it's gonna be da same," he stated sadly. "Dat's all." He avoided answering Sly directly, unwilling to publicly admit Frank's abusive treatment of him. He sighed and wiped the blood from his hand onto his hospital gown, growing slightly agitated when the blood returned onto his palm.

Sly noted the extreme shift in the mood of the room and stood to leave because he started to feel uncomfortable. "I'll let you rest," he stated simply. "See you later, okay?"

Frankie nodded sadly, not raising his eyes to watch Sly quickly exit the room. He repeatedly wiped and smeared the blood over his body, and the tears built in his eyes until they trickled down the length of his face. He didn't notice that he was repeatedly digging into his palms with his nails.

~*~*~*~

"Alexis? Hi babe." Luke cradled his cell phone by his ear while he walked to a window in the Cassadine library, his new way station at Wyndemere. "Frankie is settled in now. He finally woke up and is aware that he was transported here. What's up with you?"

"I'm at Kelly's Diner having a very interesting time with Ruby and Mrs. DeMarco. They're trying to teach me how to bake."

"What?" Luke laughed into the phone. "Are they gluttons for punishment?"

"Haha." Alexis answered. "I told them I had a culinary disability, but they wouldn't hear of it." Alexis lowered her voice and rolled her eyes to survey the room to ensure her privacy. "You know, Luke, two of them are worse than one. They've ganged up on me. I thought I'd just drop off Mrs. DeMarco back to her room at Kelly's, but no. They've decided since I'm a "new bride," I need to be able to cook for my man."

"Is that so bad?" Luke teased. "A man has to eat sometime. And a woman's purpose is to feed a man."

"Do you ever want to have sex again?" Alexis threatened. "I know that's a joke, at least it had better be a joke, buster."

"I'm a funny man, always," Luke said, defending himself from his wife's feminist wrath.

"They're making me measure flour," Alexis whined. "I don't know how much more of this I can handle."

"No one is keeping you there, sweetheart. You have a car, take off."

"Oh, right. Typical man. You don't know what it's like when these older women get their hooks in you. There's no escape."

"Sorry, darlin.'"

"You owe me," Alexis hissed.

"Anything I have is yours," Luke stated diplomatically.

"Your ass in a sling. That's what I want."

"My ass is all yours darlin.'"

"Good." Alexis turned off her cell phone and emerged from the storage room. She was covered with swipes of white flour.

"You need an apron," Ruby announced.

"Oh, yes," replied Mrs. DeMarco. "Ruby, how 'bout dat nice apron you got with da big buncha pink flowers on it? Alexis would look so pretty with dat on! Come here, sweetie."

Alexis tried to smile, but only pulled off a tight grimace of pain.

~*~*~*~

"Okay, now that Sylvester is visiting Frankie, let's have a man to man talk," Luke stated as he laid a hand on Johnny's shoulder.

Johnny sat down in an overstuffed, blue cloth upholstered chair across from Luke. "What's on your mind?" he asked respectfully as he adjusted the crease in his pants, slightly nervous at Luke's tone of voice and probable line of questioning. His afternoon with Bobbie surfaced in his mind, though, and he smiled in spite of himself. Man, she's a fine woman.

"I want to talk to you about Frankie."

"I figured," Johnny answered shortly.

Luke's eyes narrowed, unsure of whether or not Johnny was willing to talk. "Why do you suppose he was screaming in the ambulance?"

"I have no way of knowing that directly," Johnny hedged. "But he did experience an emotional trauma when he shot that man in his room. My guess is it's related to that."

"Who else has he shot?" Luke retorted hotly.

"Do you really want to know?" Johnny asked sincerely. "Maybe it's better if we leave it that he's both suffered and inflicted violence."

"Such eloquence from a bodyguard."

"Who was raised in the suburbs in a nice neighborhood," Johnny replied evenly. "And your point is?"

"I'm just trying to figure you out," Luke said. "What kind of a man becomes a kid's bodyguard? What kind of a man kills for a living?"

"You seem to have all of the answers. You tell me."

"You're being evasive," Luke challenged.

"And how should I react to this line of questioning?"

Luke sighed and squeezed his hands together, and his voice took on an emotional edge. "I want to know about my boy, what's happened to him, why he reacts the way that he does. I want to know what I'm getting myself into so I can be prepared. How can I help him?"

Johnny nodded. "Okay. I can try to answer some of those questions."

Luke looked up with gratitude in his earnest blue eyes. "Thank you."

Johnny composed himself and decided to start at the beginning. "As far as what's happened to him, I'd say a lot. I'm sure your sister told you about our conversation regarding Frankie's early years?"

Luke's face reddened. "Yeah," he said. "She talked about lots of abuse and neglect."

"That's accurate," Johnny agreed. "I didn't see Frankie frequently while he was growing up as an infant and toddler. I was a guard, but not inside the mansion. I was in charge of the garages at that time. I'd see Frankie when he and Frank were coming and going." Johnny looked down at his hands as he rubbed his knuckles. "Frank was always rough with the kid, grabbing him by the arm or pulling him along. But I didn't witness outright abuse until later. Frankie doesn't talk much about his early childhood, so I can't piece that together for you. I will say that I never heard Frankie backtalk Frank or give him any trouble. Of course, I'm sure he didn't dare."

Johnny felt antsy with the content of the discussion and rose from his chair to lean against a window and look out on the grounds. The expanse of green lawn and trees seemed to soothe him like a calm oasis. "I don't know exactly how many people Frankie directly shot or killed. He accidentally shot another boy when he was eight. He started carrying a gun around that time but wasn't mature enough to handle it correctly. It was one of the employee's sons, so nothing came of the incident. He's made veiled references to a time when Frank made him kill someone to prove himself, but he won't talk about it. It probably happened before he was thirteen. He's killed five or six hitmen out of self-defense, and I've killed seven myself in the last two years. Those are the stakes of being Frank Smith's son and the number two man. You've seen the damage to his body. Do you blame him for wanting protection?"

Luke's face sank sadly. "No," he said in a quiet voice.

"It's the life. Once you're in, it's almost impossible to get out. But, Frankie and I are both trying. Neither one of us wants to stay in. Luke." Johnny turned back toward the room's interior and met Luke's eyes with steely determination. "Your son isn't a cold-blooded killer. It's not in his nature. It's not in mine either. If deaths result from his strategies, then it's all business, nothing personal."

Johnny groaned and sat back down in his seat. "Frankie used to play with my son occasionally. Rick is only three years younger. But, I never let him carry a firearm when they played. I told Frankie I'd be his protection, and if he insisted on carrying a gun, then no playing around. He was agreeable with that. He's pretty smart. If you use both reason and a measure of strength with him, he'll listen usually. But you have to make it seem like it's his idea. He's extremely willful and won't take direction if he feels it's forced. If you say black, he'll say white. Oh, and there's one other thing."

Luke looked expectantly at the man seated across from him.

"In my opinion, Frankie's an alcoholic."

Luke's face couldn't look more stunned. "What?" he breathed out.

"I've been trying to keep booze away from that kid since he was four years old. I think he's been drinking since he was two."

"My father was an alcoholic," Luke sputtered out. "I know it can be inherited, but…"

"Believe me," Johnny answered. "He's got the gene." His right eyebrow raised. "And, I'm sure he's told you about the sex, right?"

Luke's face now took on the aspect of a man that had aged ten years in a minute. "Oh, yes, I know all about the father and son whores."

"He's real proud of that," Johnny said.

"I can tell," Luke muttered. "He can't stop talking about it. Does he have any pure hobbies? Wood whittling, model building, kayaking?"

Johnny's brow knit together with the efforts of his thinking. "Nope."

~*~*~*~

"Uncle Luke?" Sly stood hesitantly at the doorway to the library, leaning against the doorjamb with a worried expression on his face. He'd waited to interrupt the two men until a lull developed in Luke and Johnny's conversation.

Luke noticed Sly's discomfort immediately. "What's wrong, Sly?" he asked as he rose from his seat. Johnny stood up also and turned to face the boy.

Sly looked down at the floor and then back up at his uncle. "I don't know. I was talking to Frankie. We had a fun conversation, but then he started asking me about you. Strange things like did you hit me when you got mad. After awhile, I felt real creepy, so I left. I came to tell you because I think Frankie's sad or upset. He was acting weird."

Three heads turned abruptly when an eerie, anguished cry floated into the room. "Sly, you stay here," Luke ordered before he and Johnny ran upstairs toward Frankie's suite.

Next chapter...