Chapter Forty-One

~ Sometimes I think I’m gonna drown ‘cause everyone around’s so hollow. And I’m alone

Sly’s eyes filled with tears as he watched his uncle and Johnny sprinting for the stairs, and he cringed while the tortured cries ripped through the house and continually assaulted his ears. His shaking hand reached out for a bookshelf for support, and he leaned his weight against the solid wooden structure as his mind raced. Frankie! What’s wrong with him? I’ve never heard anybody scream like that. It’s like a horror movie, only it’s real. Sly’s eyes worriedly looked around the library as his heart beat extra fast.

“What in God’s name is that sound?”

Sly’s eyes turned toward Nikolas, whose large frame dominated the doorway to the library. His face was screwed up as if he couldn’t believe his ears. He frowned. “Don’t tell me it’s the brat,” he spat out. “He’ll wake the dead if he doesn’t stop it.” Nikolas’ face fell, and he felt ashamed at running off his mouth when he observed the fearful expression on Sly’s face. “Hey, buddy, I’m sorry. What’s going on? Are you all right?” Nikolas placed a firm hand on Sly’s shoulder, and the boy’s sad green eyes met his own. Sly shook his head, and said in a small voice, “No, I’m not okay. Frankie’s in trouble. He was upset when I visited him, and when I came to tell Uncle Luke…” Sly’s voice trailed off, and he took in a deep breath. “He started doing that.” Sly pointed his finger in the direction of Frankie’s room.

Nikolas led Sly to a couch, and they both sat on the edge of the furniture. “What were you talking about?” Nikolas inquired, trying to comprehend the situation.

Sly shrugged. “We were just talking about girls and stuff, chewing the fat, you know.” Sly’s face tensed up as he continued. “Then he started asking me questions about my uncle, if he beat on me or hurt me. I asked him if Frank was mean to him, but he clammed up and seemed upset. That’s when I left the room.” Sly’s eyes stared down at the floor. “He said he didn’t want a dad if it was going to be like before.”

Nikolas shook his head. This was the first time that he’d heard of his younger half brother being mistreated. Maybe that’s why he’s psycho, he thought to himself. He’s sure not normal. Nikolas made a pained face as the noise continued. “Why doesn’t he let up?”

~*~*~*~

~ Sometimes I think I’m goin’ down and no one makes a sound - they follow. And I’m alone

Luke beat Johnny to the door of Frankie’s suite by one second. When he entered the room, the medical resident was already at the kid’s bedside looking worriedly at the monitor readings. Jerry’s face relaxed when he saw the two men. “I’m out of sedative,” he explained loudly over the volume of Frankie’s cries. “Maybe one of you can calm him down so I can determine what’s wrong. His blood pressure is dangerously high.”

Frankie yanked his arm mercilessly trying to free it from the activated automatic blood pressure cuff, twisting and pulling back on it with a ferocious force that bruised his elbow and arm. The medical resident said quickly, “I’m going for the sleep medication in the supply room downstairs. We don’t have any sedatives, he’s not responding, and we have to settle him down somehow.”

Luke’s mouth hung open in shock when he looked down at his struggling son. Frankie was covered with streaked blood, and when the boy’s right hand slid down his sweat-drenched face, it left a long, jagged smear covering his forehead, eyes, cheek and nose. Luke’s eyes fastened on Frankie’s left hand. He watched with horrified fascination as a drip of blood ran down his son’s fingertip and slowly plopped onto the white sheet covering the hospital bed. The blood mixed with sweat and quickly absorbed into fabric, leaving behind a tie-dyed stain that insidiously spread out its red tentacles over the white expanse.

“Frankie!” Johnny stated in his deep, authoritative voice. He frowned when Frankie continued to move jerkily on the bed, seemingly unaware of his presence. “Frankie, what’s wrong?” He noticed that the boy kept flexing his hands and trying to wipe them off on his gown and sheets, which accounted for the mess that greeted them. Johnny attempted to grab hold of Frankie’s right hand to inspect it, but as soon as he touched him, Frankie frantically pulled away from him, shaking and protectively cowering on the bed. He used his feet to push himself as far away as he could manage and grew ominously quiet in stark contrast to the ruckus that he’d made seconds earlier.

~ And when you know you can’t relate to one more shiny face,

Your heart breaks – no one cares.

The combination of Frankie’s shooting the hitman and his dreams and recollections were unfortunate in their function as a trigger to Frankie’s deepest fears and anxieties. The blood that poured from Frankie’s hands caused his sense impressions to blur and loose their distinct boundaries. The garish sight sent him straight back into his hellish existence with Frank on that same cold night during his twelfth year – the night when Frank had forced him to kill the snitch in the dark woods of the Smith estate. He’d never told a single soul what had happened to him and kept that secret tucked far back into his brain in a hidden place that he’d never visited again – until now.

*** He felt the rough, cold surface on the scraped skin of his bruised face. The concrete absorbed all of the moisture and chill of the surrounding night, and he breathed in its fetid air as his senses began to return. His head was exploding from inside out with a psychedelic intensity that sapped his energy and made his stomach revolt with violent nausea. He took in quicker breaths, but remained motionless, arms and legs still in the haphazard positions that they’d assumed after being flung into the six foot square room carved into the walls of the Smith mansion’s basement. Finally, his tongue moved within his mouth, tasting the blood that had yet to congeal. He opened his eyes, and even though they were mere slits, zero light in the inky black room made it seem as if he were still unconscious.

He was aware that his left arm was trapped under something. He tugged lightly, but it wouldn’t budge from under the dead weight. Frankie moaned and felt the bile rising from his stomach, a symptom of the concussion that Frank had given him with his crushing pistol whip. Where am I? Frankie thought in a daze, his mind not yet able to use reason and logic to figure out his situation. He turned and vomited. He tried to sit up, but banged his already sore head on the ceiling. The space was barely three feet high.

He used his right hand to slap at whatever was imprisoning him in his current position, and he felt something slide down his back and dump soggily onto the floor. A lightening bolt of hysteria shot up inside of him when he realized that he was trapped with something unrecognizable in a very small space. Even though the fear ate away at him, Frankie extended a shaking hand toward the object that pressed his left arm into the floor. He patted and slapped over the surface in the pitch-black room, feeling something like cloth. He patted further down and his fingertips lingered on fleshy cold fingers. Frankie’s blood froze in his veins, and he screamed as he pushed away from the body, using his feet to kick and move himself into a corner. When his left arm was finally free, he wrapped both of his arms around his middle and cowered and whimpered with his head erupting in a dizzying clash of pain.

As Frankie’s mind slowly cleared, he began to wish that he were still unconscious. Then, he wouldn’t be trapped in a tiny space with a body that he knew he’d murdered. There wasn’t enough room in the world to back away from that reality. The result of his deed was sprawled inches away from him, and its silent presence seemed to suck all of the oxygen out of the room in an accusing manner. When Frankie suddenly imagined that the body moved, he began screaming and clawing at the roughly textured concrete. Faster and faster he tore at the walls looking for an escape, and soon his palms grew slick with his own hot blood.

Three hours later, Frank decided that Frankie had had enough punishment for his cowardice. Although not yet daily events, gangland killings were frequent enough on the Smith estate that Frank had commissioned holding areas for the dead bodies that needed to be buried or wrapped in chains and thrown into the ocean. One couldn’t always plan or wait for the cleanup personnel. He’d ordered the snitch’s body to be placed in a holding area, but first he’d thrown an insensible Frankie into the cubbyhole. Fucking pansy, Frank thought to himself. I’ve got to toughen up that kid somehow. He’s too sensitive for his own good.

By the time that Frank walked up to the cubbyhole, Frankie had stopped screaming. His screams and frantic pounding had brought no help, and he’d given up, settling for huddling against the wall and shivering as he tried to blank his mind to blot out the horror. He had no idea if he’d ever escape this hellhole and wondered idly when the dead body would start to stink and rot. Already, the smell of his own vomit filled the air. Would he pass out from thirst and hunger? How long would it take for him to die? He began to wish that he’d shared the same fate as his companion.

Frank yanked open the hinged door in the middle of the wall and stepped back in surprise when the top half of his son’s body flopped out of the hole and hung down limply. The boy was disheveled and streaked with blood that was in various stages of drying, ranging in color from rusty brown to bright red. Frankie weakly raised a hand, but his slick palm quickly fell back down and smacked onto the light colored surface of the wall, leaving behind a bloody handprint. Frank frowned when he saw the print and wondered briefly what his son had been up to for the last two hours. Surely he hadn’t been messing with the dead snitch’s corpse. Frank’s strong, cold hand wrapped around his son’s thin arm, and he yanked him brutally from the hole, pushing him up against the wall and shaking him. Frankie’s head hung down, bobbing precariously on his neck, and his legs bent with a lack of strength in his muscles.

“I hope you learned your lesson,” Frank stated coldly as he shook Frankie again. The boy raised his throbbing head, and began to smile instinctively when he saw that his father had rescued him. His mouth opened to delightedly say, “Dad,” but the memory of Frank’s hand on his, squeezing back his finger on the trigger, killed his smile and affection before it revealed itself on his face. His big, blue eyes looked up into Frank’s angry, set face, and he hovered indecisively for a moment between his relief at being with his dad, with a desire for his strength and affection, and the unhappy knowledge that his father was a sadistic killer who enjoyed his son’s torment. Frankie frowned and shuddered, choosing raw survival over certain death at the hand of his father by forcing his thoughts, feelings and personality into a dark hiding place deep within and replacing them with someone whom Frank would accept.

Frankie glanced down at the floor with fluttering eyelashes, and when he looked up again, his face had set into a hard mask, and he stated leadenly yet forcefully, “I want a hot shower, a six pack of beer and a nice whore with big tits.”

Frank blinked in surprise at the transformation in his son, and he recovered quickly as he laughed heartily and slapped the small statured boy on his back. “Don’t worry Frankie. I’ll give you another opportunity to prove yourself. You can have a six pack and two whores tonight. Work off some of that aggression.” As father and son climbed the stairs, Frank didn’t notice that his pale son was breathing in quick, short, pants of breath and moving robotically with permanently aged eyes that were hollow and haunted. ***

~ And when you know you can’t go on ‘cause everything is wrong

Your heart breaks – no one’s there

Luke finally broke through his emotional shock and reached out for his son. Frankie’s face contorted as his blood pressure continued to climb. Luke spoke in an even, measured voice, “Frankie, it’s Luke. Calm down. Tell us what’s wrong.” Luke firmly grasped the boy’s chin and directed his face toward his own. Luke felt sick to his stomach when he looked sharply into Frankie’s terrified eyes that betrayed the depth of his retreat. He swallowed hard as a lump in his throat rose. He’s not in the room with us, and he’s not in a safe place.

~*~*~*~

Nikolas was his father’s son, and in the absence of leadership, he firmly took the helm. He tapped Sly on the arm. “Let’s go see what’s happening,” he suggested. Sly followed the older boy out of the library, and they quickly climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time with the agility of healthy teenagers.

Nik held up a hand to halt Sly when they reached the middle of the second floor hallway. He poked his head into Lulu’s nursery. The nanny was standing and protectively holding onto Lulu. “What’s happening, Master Nikolas?” she asked with fearful eyes and a quivering voice.

“Stay in here, Emma,” Nikolas stated. “My brother is having some sort of an upset. I’ll see what the situation is. Just close the door and stay calm.”

Emma, who was only twenty and a new arrival to the United States from a sleepy hamlet in England, relaxed in the presence of Nikolas’ commanding manner. She nodded and smiled weakly as Nikolas retreated and gently closed the door.

Nikolas set his face and marched on down the hallway to Frankie’s suite. He frowned when Frankie’s desperate cries suddenly cut off and silence curled into the hallway with an absorbing presence. This is my home, Nikolas thought gravely. He’s upsetting my baby sister and the servants. I can’t allow this to continue. Nikolas and Sly melted into the walls by the doorway with the experience of teenagers who have eavesdropped on their parents more than once or twice. Nikolas held his index finger to his lips, and Sly nodded with a grim face.

~*~*~*~

~ Yeah, if I make it I’d be amazed just to find tomorrow

Yeah, one more day and I’d be amazed just to see it waiting

“He’s hurt himself somehow, Luke,” Johnny mentioned. “Look at all of this blood he’s spread around.” Johnny pointed to the sheets, Frankie’s gown and the boy’s face and arms.

Luke nodded his assent, and his eyes cast on Johnny’s face. “Has he been like this before?”

Johnny shook his head in denial. “No, not exactly like this. He’s frequently had bad nightmares in the past, but I could always wake him up. I’m not sure what this is.” Johnny’s mind redirected to the recent trip back to the mansion, and Luke picked up on his contemplative vibe. “What?” he asked. “Do you remember anything important?”

Johnny ran his hand over his neck and frowned. “I don’t know. He does seem to be quick in assuming someone is trying to hurt or kill him.” Johnny made a pained face. “But I suppose it’s been true on occasion. Let me try to reach him.” Johnny jostled Frankie’s shoulder and said, “Boss. I need to talk to you about the business. Talk to me. Tell me what to do. You have the details. I need your input. Frankie. Come on, boss.”

Both men witnessed the change in Frankie’s demeanor as Johnny’s words reached his mind. Like an ocean tide lapping at a beach and manipulating the changeable form of the sand, his response to Johnny’s words seemed to melt and reform Frankie’s face into a hardened mask with glittering eyes full of action and violence. He grinned lopsidedly and said in a lilting tone, “You want da specifics? You get me my beer and guns, Johnny. Dat’s my offer.” He laughed. “No more of dis sickbed shit.”

Johnny’s eyes shifted nervously to Luke. “I told you, boss. If I continue to work for you then no more booze.

“I want my fucking guns,” Frankie asserted as his hand tightly gripped Johnny’s arm.

“I’m your firepower,” Johnny replied smoothly, his hand gently disengaging Frankie’s grip. “You don’t need to carry.”

“I wanna carry,” Frankie gritted out with flashing eyes. He sniffed and turned his head away. “You told me about Manetti and dat stupid Butch, but what’s da status on Ortenzo and Kelly? Oh, and I said I wanted five midlevel men offed – da bloodier da better. Who else should we target? Dat’s enough doncha think? It should scare da little guys. Nobody’s gonna muscle in on me.”

Frankie’s lips sneered with his last words, and Luke felt the floor move under him as he took a dizzying step backwards. He blinked rapidly and sailed out of the room, passing by his two nephews, but not registering their presence in his single-minded hurry to escape.

~*~*~*~

“He’s talking about killing people,” Sly related to Nik in a high-pitched whisper that betrayed his fear. Both boys involuntarily took in deep breaths when Luke bolted past them and ran down the hallway.

“Ohmigod,” Nikolas breathed out. Sly’s face whitened at the sight of his uncle’s obvious distress. “Uncle Luke,” his voice quivered as his green eyes filled with tears and sought Nikolas’ face for comfort and answers.

Nikolas’ mind was racing in reaction to Luke’s abrupt departure, and he rubbed his forehead in a distracted manner. He refocused his attention on Sly and grew concerned about the younger boy.

“Where’d he go?” Sly’s tear-filled voice asked. “I want my uncle. I want Uncle Luke.”

Nikolas wrapped his arm around Sly’s shoulders and squeezed. “He probably needed a breath of fresh air. We need to make some phone calls. Why don’t you come with me while I call Alexis for you?” Nikolas shook his head. Freaky. This is getting freaky.

~*~*~*~

~ Yeah if I make it I’m still alone – no more hope for better days

If I could change then I’d really be amazed*

Frankie lowered his voice to conspiratorially whisper to his bodyguard and new right hand man. “Did Corinthos give you his estimate for da buyout? We can’t let dis drag on too long. I want outta dis.” He emphasized his points with short jabs from his finger in Johnny’s direction.

Johnny let out a long breath from his pursed lips. Okay. Okay. Get in gear, Johnny. He’s talking about the business, like you asked him to. “It’s only been two days, boss. Corinthos and Jason Morgan need time to prepare.”

Frankie’s eyes flashed with disdain and anger. “Don’t give ‘em an inch, Johnny,” he warned in a low, intense voice. “Dey’ll try to get one over on us. Dat won’t happen. I want dat estimate first thing tomorrow. No excuses. Dey give us de estimate or I crush ‘em. Give ‘em da choice.”

“I’ll give them a warning, boss,” Johnny answered lightly. “Don’t get too worked up. You’ve had a stressful day. You need to rest.”

“I’m not gonna rest until I get my deal,” Frankie emphasized harshly with a grimaced face. He held his breath and widened his eyes as he felt a symphony of pain wash over him. He suddenly felt very floaty and disconnected from himself and his surroundings. His hand tapped on his face, searching for the nasal cannula that he’d earlier knocked out of place. He felt a distinct lack of oxygen in his lungs, and worriedly fixed the apparatus so he could breathe in a stream of clean air. His arm and hip were throbbing intensely, and he felt confused, unsure of the boundaries of his body.

The medical resident walked in with a syringe, and he looked at Johnny questioningly and directed his gaze toward Frankie’s IV. Johnny’s lips tightened, and he nodded abruptly. Frankie twitched uneasily, and he sensed that he was drifting along on like a wayward fallen leaf, his mind and body out of control and sliding nowhere on a turbulent breeze. He closed his eyes and muttered sadly, “Mrs. DeMarco. Don’t make me go back.”

~*~*~*~

“Luke?”

Laura stood in the doorway to the library with a puzzled look on her face. She’d been drawn to the room by the sound of soft sobs, but she’d expected to see Nikolas, not her ex-husband. Luke was half sitting, half lying on a leather couch in front of a large picture window, his face down on an arm that he’d extended across the back of the couch. A gentle beam of sunlight filtered from the window to the top of Luke’s head, and Laura noticed that the crown of his hair looked reddish in the bright light. When Luke didn’t answer, she placed a light hand on his shaking shoulder.

Luke immediately ceased crying and turned around to see who’d touched him. His eyes glistened, and he sniffed, running his hands over his face to remove his tears.

“Luke, you surprised me, seeing you here in Wyndemere. What are you doing and why are you so upset? Is it our son?” Laura’s eyes betrayed her concern and confusion.

“I thought Stefan would have contacted you,” Luke replied shortly. His nerves were still on edge and his heart heavy after his last encounter with Frankie.

Laura made an annoyed face and waved a hand in the air. “I have a cell phone, but I always forget to recharge it. It’s dead. I haven’t talked to Stefan today. Where is he? Is he home yet or still at the hospital?” She continued to stare at Luke and realized that something awful must have happened for him to be this publicly upset. “You didn’t answer my question,” she countered tensely. “Is Frankie okay?”

“No,” Luke replied in a small, high pitched voice edged with tears. He hung his head and turned it away from Laura, seemingly concentrating on fingering the shape of an upholstery button on the arm of the brown leather couch. He took in a deep breath, but it sounded like a shuddering sob.

Laura grew alarmed and knelt in front of Luke to meet him eye to eye. Her voice shook with raw fear. “He didn’t die, did he? Frankie’s not dead. Please, Luke, tell me. He’s alive. He has to be okay. He was doing so much better.”

“He’s never been well,” Luke retorted forcefully, his tears returning. “No, he’s not dead. He’s here, at Wyndemere, in that hospital bed you set up in a suite. But well? No. He’s not well.”

Laura stood up and sat down on the couch next to Luke, who continued to turn his face from his ex-wife. Her brow creased in confusion. “Frankie’s here? We were preparing for that, but I thought he’d be in the hospital for at least another week. I don’t understand.”

Luke hit the arm of the couch. “He shot someone, Laura! He shot a hitman in his ICU room. Stefan and his bodyguard decided it was time for him to leave the hospital. Wyndemere was the logical choice. But he’s not….” Luke’s words trailed away, as there was no way for him to describe his son’s condition or his own reaction to recent events.

Laura’s face set with determination as her fears for her son’s life fled her mind. Now she wanted the whole story, but was having difficulty speaking to Luke as he only offered bits and pieces of the puzzle. “I want you to tell me why you’re so upset,” she stated. “Frankie’s here, he’s alive, that’s a good thing, right?”

“I dunno,” Luke said wearily with a trace of hysteria. “I don’t know anything anymore. Whatever I thought was real or true or sane just took a flying leap out the window. Our son is…not our son.”

“What?” Laura countered incredulously. “You’re not making any sense. You had the DNA test. It proved that Frankie is your son. Well, and mine, too then. He looks so much like you. How can you say that?”

Luke turned forward on the couch and hung his head with his hands folded in front of him. “A person’s not just a body, Laura. There’s the mind, the personality, the soul, and all that googly metaphysical stuff. That’s what I mean. He’s not like us. Frank, he, he did something to that boy, ruined him somehow. The kid, he’s not right. He’s off, there’s something majorly wrong with him. I tried to overlook it. I thought, well, maybe he’s just upset because of his physical injuries. He’ll come around when he’s feeling better. But now he’s recovering physically, and the other is worse, so much worse.” Luke looked defeated and shamed, and his features took on a heavy, worn aspect. He placed a hand over his face as the tears refused to stop forming. “He’s not our son. He’s Frank Smith’s son. I can’t change that.”

Laura’s mind raced, trying to figure out what was behind Luke’s newly pessimistic outlook. She felt alarmed, yet sympathy welled up in her for the hurt man sitting beside her. She reached out her hand to touch his arm. “What happened? Tell me exactly what happened and maybe we can work this out.” Desperate for knowledge, she squeezed his arm and looked him straight in the eye. “I need to know. I can handle it.”

Luke stared at Laura for a few seconds and then nodded. She had a right to know. “He shot this hitman who entered his room and tried to kill him. The Mafia is after him now. But, he hasn’t acted right since that happened. We had to tranquilize him to transport him, but when he was half out of it, he had some dreams maybe. He was screaming at the top of his lungs in the ambulance. It was horrible. A real, I don’t know, tortured kind of scream. We gave him some more sedative, and he calmed down again. It took him awhile to wake up after that. I hung around here. Borrowed a few books from this library and sat with him. When he woke up, it seemed like he didn’t fully remember the shooting. I let it go, and we had a nice conversation. A really good one. He agreed to take my last name, and I agreed we’d call him Frankie. But, he seemed very skittish about some things. He was worried that if he let me be his dad, as he phrased it, I’d beat on him. Like Frank, I guess. I told him to talk to Sly, that he might be able to calm his fears. Sly talked to him, but became spooked when Frankie started asking all of these questions concerning my behavior, did I beat on him and the like. While Sly was talking to me, we heard this terrible scream. We ran to Frankie’s room, and he was smeared with blood and hollering. We couldn’t reach him. He was lost. I don’t know, that’s how I’d describe it. When his bodyguard tried to touch him, he clamped his mouth shut and tried so hard to move away. He was cowering and cringing. We were trying to calm him down so we could determine what had happened to him, where was the blood coming from, you know. Johnny, the bodyguard started calling him boss, trying that angle to reach his mind. The kid responded and then, oh my God, Laura.” Luke choked up again and shook his head, unable to continue.

“Then what?” Laura coaxed in a quiet voice.

Luke sighed. “Right in front of our eyes he turned into Frank Smith. Exactly like Frank. He got all cold and evil and murderous. He was instructing Johnny on killing people in the organization to keep them in line.” Luke’s voice rose in pitch. “I couldn’t take it, Laura. I ran out of there. I don’t know what to do.”

Laura’s eyes turned down with sadness, and she still wore her worried frown. “I need to see him,” she said with resignation. “You’ve had a horrible shock. I think you should lie down. Let me show you to a guestroom, okay?”

Luke nodded wordlessly, and they rose from the couch.

~*~*~*~

Luke was lying on his back in a small guestroom not far from the library. Laura had found a washcloth and ran cold water over it, then placed it over Luke’s forehead. “I shut the draperies to darken the room,” she stated. “Close your eyes and try to nap. I’m going to phone Alexis after I visit with our son.”

Luke nodded, but didn’t speak or open his eyes. His hand held the washcloth firmly to his aching forehead.

~*~*~*~

“Alexis? It’s Nikolas.”

“Nikolas,” Alexis answered brightly. “What a nice surprise. Thanks for the rescue. I’m over at Kelly’s learning how to bake. And don’t ask. It’s a long story.”

“Alexis, something has happened,” Nikolas continued. “Frankie has been brought to Wyndemere. Luke is upset and now Sly is too. I think you need to be here. Someone should take Sly home. I have him with me now, but he’s not doing so well. And Luke didn’t look so hot last time I saw him.”

“Nikolas, what’s going on?” Alexis asked tensely as her hand gripped the cell phone firmly.

“I don’t know exactly. All I know is that he showed up in an ambulance, they put him on a hospital bed and hooked him up to a bunch of machines. He started screaming in this horrible, freaky way. That’s when Sly and I went to see what was going on. Luke ran from his room like he’d seen a ghost. Sly started crying, and now I’m here calling you. I don’t know why the idiot half brother was screaming. It has something to do with Frank mistreating him. That’s my guess.”

Alexis’ instincts were alerting her to a volatile situation. “Where’s Stefan?” she questioned.

“He’s at the hospital,” Nikolas said. “And mother is at a charity event. I’m in charge now.”

Alexis smiled in spite of the tension. Nikolas was a chip off the old block. “You’re doing a fine job handling the situation,” she praised. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Twenty minutes tops.”

“Thanks, Alexis.”

Nikolas turned his attention to Sly, who was stationed in the bay area of Nikolas’ room, sitting ramrod straight in a chair and staring out the window. “Hey, Sly. Why don’t you mess around with my computer until Alexis gets here? I just spoke with her, and she’s on her way. I have some neat games for you to try.” Nikolas carried his laptop over to the small table that sat in front of the chairs. He opened the computer and accessed a video game that would be sure to distract the upset boy. “This one has a lot of cool graphics. Look at those colors.”

~*~*~*~

Laura frowned when she walked down the hallway and saw that Lulu’s nursery door was shut. Usually, it was open at all times. She opened the door and smiled when she saw Emma rocking a slumbering Lulu in her pretty white bassinet.

“Why the closed door?” she whispered.

“Master Nikolas shut the door because of the screaming,” Emma answered quietly. “I was growing alarmed, and he recommended that we stay in here with the door shut. That boy down the hall quit screaming, though. It’s been quiet.”

Laura smiled in spite of the situation. Nikolas grows more like Stefan every day. I’m so proud of him. “Thanks, Emma. I’ll be back to check on Lulu in a few minutes.”

Laura hesitated outside of the door to Frankie’s suite. It was now partially closed, and she heard two male voices talking. Okay, Laura. Be strong. You’re a mother. Mothers can do anything that they have to.

Laura’s eyes registered the familiar appearance of Johnny and an unfamiliar medical worker. “How’s my son?” she asked firmly as she approached the bed. Johnny’s face looked crumpled and worn, which sent a chill of fear up her spine. “He’s been given some sleep medication. He’s starting to calm down some,” the medical resident explained.

“Mrs. Cassadine…” Johnny said, acknowledging Laura’s presence. He wanted to warn her, but no words came, and he closed his mouth.

Laura gasped when she saw Frankie lying on the bed. “My God! What?” Laura’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at her son. Frankie was mumbling incoherently, saying, “Don’t make me. I don’t wanna. No, I can’t. Help me. Mrs.DeMarco.” Laura’s eyes registered the smears of blood caking on her son’s face, arms and gown, and the look of extreme stress and terror on his contorted facial muscles. His left arm was no longer connected to the blood pressure machine, but lay across his stomach, revealing a new mass of black and blue bruises. His body twitched, and his legs moved as if he were trying to kick something away. But, his movements were weak, as it was obvious that he was becoming physically exhausted.

“Why is he bleeding?” Laura asked in a shaky yet determined voice.

“He cut into his palms with his nails,” Johnny explained. “We’re trying to settle him before cleaning him up. He’s been quite distressed, but there is no more sedative left, and he was given sleeping medication. It seems to be taking effect.”

Laura instinctively reached out to stroke her son’s cheek. “Frankie,” she said softly. “It’s your mother. Can you hear me?”

Frankie opened his eyes, and Laura was unprepared for the look that they held. Her heart broke when she saw the pain, fear, terror and grief resident in the boy’s eyes. He looked hopeless, like he’d lost his best and only friend. “Frankie,” she said again. “It’s Laura. It’s your mother. Will you talk to me?”

Frankie’s long eyelashes fluttered in response to Laura’s voice. “Hey! You can hear me,” Laura encouraged. “Talk to me, Frankie.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted eloquently, and he parted his lips. “Mama?” he asked breathlessly.

Laura tensed slightly, but then accepted it. She couldn’t understand why he insisted on calling her Mama, but that was all right. Whatever he made him comfortable. “Yes,” she replied. “It’s your…mama.”

“Mama,” he stated with more energy. “Mama, don’t leave me.”

“I’m right here,” Laura encouraged. “I’m not leaving.”

Frankie frowned and moved with agitation. “Don’t send me back. Don’t make me go back dere. I don’t wanna go.”

“You’re staying right here with me,” Laura stated firmly. “Your place is with me.”

Frankie’s face screwed up with pain, and he flung his arm to the side. “Oh, mama, it’s cold and it’s dark and nobody’s coming back. I’m gonna die and I’m so scared. Mama.” Frankie moaned dejectedly and began crying again.

“Baby, will you let me touch you?” Laura asked respectfully. “I want to hold you. Will you let me? Is that okay with you?” She placed a tentative hand on his arm to gauge his reactions, but Frankie didn’t flinch or rear back. She lightly stroked his arm while telling him repeatedly that she was there. Gently, she pulled him up from the bed and wrapped him into her arms as she sat down beside him. Frankie’s head lolled onto her shoulder, and his arms hung limply around her sides. It was like holding onto a floppy ragdoll. Laura began to rock him with an easy, fluid motion as she stroked his hair and rubbed his back. “Mama’s here,” she said repeatedly in a soft voice. This continued for long minutes until Laura noticed he became quiet, that his body had lost even more muscular tone and his breaths came regularly and evenly. She carefully lowered him back to the bed and took in his relaxed appearance. “He’s asleep,” she whispered to Johnny and the medical resident. “Bring me a new gown and some supplies so I can clean him up.” Even though her heart was breaking, Laura felt a core of strength in her, a mother’s love that had stood the test of time with billions of other women through the ages. She would do whatever was necessary in order to help her child.

“Thanks,” she said softly when Johnny handed her a cloth and a basin full of warm water. She began with his hands and lightly cleaned out the rough scratches and indentations on his palms. The medical resident looked over the cuts and said, “He’ll need stitches for one of these, but we’ll just bandage the other cuts. They’re not deep.”

Frankie remained asleep as Laura carefully washed his face, removing the streaks of blood from his cheeks and mouth. Frankie mumbled and frowned when she ran the cloth over his full lips, but he soon settled again. She continued wringing the blood out of the cloth and ran it lightly over his exposed skin. Soon there were no more traces of blood on his skin, and she reached for the clean gown that Johnny handed her. She almost laughed out loud when she saw the three blind mice and cheese trap cartoons sprinkled over the front. Who thinks up these things? She wondered. These pediatric gowns are so silly.

She untied his blood-streaked gown and removed it, rolling it into a ball and handing it to Johnny. Taking the washcloth, she cleaned up a few places that she’d missed on his neck and chest. He’s really quite thin, she observed. His ribs are sticking out. She took in a deep breath and sighed over the numerous scars, bruises and sutures that covered his chest and torso. He’s had a hard life. And these are only the scars that show. Who knows what he’s like on the inside? Laura draped the new gown over Frankie and inserted his arms into the sleeves. She lifted him slightly and turned him to tie it in the back. Covering him with a blanket, she paused to smooth her fingers over his hair and observe his face. He’s a pretty boy, she thought. He looks like Luke, but has a softness or gentleness about him that his father doesn’t. How could this sensitive boy endure a life with Frank? Her mind reflected back to the baby that she used to jokingly refer to as ‘the love sponge,’ an infant that had eagerly sought love and attention from his parents. He’d always been so eager to please and very responsive to any positive voice or action. Even as an infant, Laura could tell that her son had a large heart and a sensitive soul. In fact, Luke had worried at times and had wondered how they should raise him to meet life’s challenges.

Laura sat back in a chair and watched as the medical resident gently and quickly worked over Frankie’s palms, cleaning them with antiseptic and bandaging them. Her eyes met Johnny’s, and she gave him a small smile. She motioned to the door with her head and nodded.

~*~*~*~

“Do you know what that was all about?” she questioned the tall bodyguard in the hallway.

Johnny shook his head. “All I know is that he shot the hitman, but took it very hard. He was in shock, and it took over half an hour for him to come to his senses. The best that I can tell is that he might be reliving some past experience that he was reminded of.”

Laura’s lips tightened, and she shook her head. “I came back home to find two upset teenagers and an ex-husband on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Not to mention a traumatized son. What the hell is going on here? How can so many things go wrong so quickly?”

Johnny pointed toward Frankie’s suite. “That’s been going wrong for fourteen years,” he intoned. “We’re just reaping what was sown.”

~*~*~*~

Alexis shook her head as she drove her car to Wyndemere. The back seat was full of the chatter of two kindred spirits, Ruby and Mrs. DeMarco. Both women had insisted on traveling with Alexis when they found out that Frankie was at Wyndemere and experiencing difficulties. Alexis knew that she had met her match in the strong woman department.

“I always knew he was a Spencer,” Ruby said. “The moment I laid eyes on him, I felt this weird vibe.”

Mrs. DeMarco nodded knowingly. “Dat’s da intuition. A woman knows her own family. It’s in da bones.”

“And then there were those blue eyes,” Ruby continued. “No one has eyes like the Spencers. It’s a family trademark.”

“He always was a cutie. A special boy,” Mrs. DeMarco agreed. “I’ll hafta make some copies of our photos. I got lots of dem with dose blue eyes.” She sighed and smiled. “Such a sweetheart.”

~*~*~*~

Johnny entered his motel room after the cab dropped him off. He sat down heavily on the thin mattress of his double bed and sighed, rubbing the tense muscles in the back of his neck. A deep longing rose inside of him for his own son, Rick. He rose and walked over to the desk, picking up the phone and dialing the number he’d memorized.

“Hello?”

“Maria, it’s Johnny. How are you? I wanted to call and talk to the kids.”

“Johnny, we’re okay,” Maria answered. “When’s dis gonna blow over?”

“In a few weeks. Sit tight, and before you know it, we’ll see the last of the mob. It’s going to happen. I’m almost free.”

Maria hesitated. “Den why do you sound so down, Johnny? What’s goin’ on?”

Johnny choked up, and it took him a moment to recover. “I miss my kids,” he said softly. “All I want to do is be their father and help them to grow up safe and happy. I need to protect them.”

“Like you couldn’t do for Frankie?” Maria questioned.

“How do you know me so well,” Johnny sighed. “Yeah, I’m feeling down because of Frankie. He’s in a bad way, and I can’t help him.”

“Da kids are doin’ fine, Johnny,” Maria replied softly. “Dey miss you, but dey’re used to it. Dat would be great if you could get outta da mob and spend some more time with dem.”

“How’s Rick?” Johnny asked worriedly. “Is he acting out again?”

“He’s learning to control his behavior better. But he’s turning into a teenager, a boy who needs his dad. Since I’m his mama, dere’s only so much I can do for a boy, you know. Dey need a man at dat age.”

Johnny nodded wordlessly. “Can you put him on the phone?”

“Sure.”

“Dad?”

“Rick,” Johnny breathed with relief. “It so good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah, I miss you, dad.”

“Me, too, son.”

“When can we leave the safe house?” Rick questioned.

“In a few weeks. If you can sit tight, things are going to be a lot better. I’m going to leave my old job, so there won’t be the danger in our lives. I’ll be able to see you more often. I’ve been thinking about you a lot, Rick. I want you to know that you’re the most important person in the world to me. You make me so proud to be your dad.”

“I love you, too, dad. I hope we can be together again.”

“It’s going to happen, Rick. You can count on that. I’m your dad, and I want to be with you.”

~*~*~*~

“Yeah,” the annoyed voice spoke into the phone.

“Mr. Corinthos,” Johnny said smoothly. “It’s Johnny Callahan.” Knowing that Jason would likely be listening in on another phone, he added, “Gentlemen. It’s time for your cost estimate. Mr. Smith is growing impatient. When he actually achieves impatience, things happen. I’m sure you get my meaning.”

Sonny’s brow knit in anger as he motioned with his head for Jason to pick up and listen. “It’s only been two days since you made your request for an estimate. You can’t expect us to crunch the numbers overnight.”

“That, gentlemen, is exactly what I expect you to do,” Johnny replied frostily. “Either I receive your estimate by 8AM tomorrow morning, or we take over Corinthos Enterprises. It’s your choice. Do you want to expand your business or do you want to lose it? Somehow I can’t see you being fulfilled selling newspapers at a newstand or being an usher at a movie theatre.”

“You like to make threats,” Sonny replied with disdain dripping from his voice.

“The way I see it, we make promises. And, allowing you to live seems quite generous to me. But of course, we’d prefer it you’d cooperate. We’re not violent men by nature.”

Jason shook his head and scrunched up his face. Sonny’s cheek twitched in anger, and he bit down hard on his teeth. “You’ll have an estimate via email by tomorrow morning,” Sonny gritted out. He turned off the portable phone and tossed it across the room. “Bastard!” he yelled. His cold eyes sought his second hand man. “Who says that we’ll allow them to live?”

~*~*~*~

Stefan sighed tiredly and sat down in his executive office chair for the first time that day. His head was bent, and he distractedly stroked his goatee. All morning and afternoon he’d been exacting damage control, desperately trying to protect the new stepson who had recently entered his life. Laura must have forgotten to charge her cell phone again because none of the five or six calls that he’d made to her had reached his wife. He’d intended to call Wyndemere for a progress report, but the distractions at the hospital had kept him busy.

Frankie’s ICU room was now torn up and under renovations. At least that was what Stefan called it. He’d had to pay the men double time to work on a Sunday, but all of the flooring had been removed in the room with no traces of the gunshots or blood to be tied to Frankie. The body that had been discovered in the ER was missing from the morgue. No one could tell the police officers what had happened to it. Stefan shook his head. Mac Scorpio was a formidable foe, a man of intelligence and determination. He didn’t buy the stories, but then there was no evidence to give him ammunition for any charges. Stefan’s mind wandered to their earlier encounter.

*** “Mr. Cassadine, where is Frank Smith, Junior? He’s not in his room, and the ICU is torn up, in complete disarray. There are workers everywhere.”

“Luke Spencer’s son has been moved to a specially prepared suite in his mother’s home. He wasn’t adjusting well to the hospital atmosphere, so we decided he’d improve more quickly in a different environment. After he was transported, we took advantage of the empty room to make some much needed renovations. As I’m sure you’re aware, General Hospital has been undergoing a modernization program.”

Mac’s face was plastered with his disbelief. “You know that this kid is a mobster. Why would you allow him in your residence?”

Stefan’s intelligent green eyes met the commissioner’s gaze and held it. “I have no proof that he was involved with his kidnapper’s business dealings. Why should I make that assumption? He’s a gravely injured fifteen year old boy in need of his mother’s care and attention. Lucky Spencer is finally home, and now he can begin to heal. He is a delightful, intelligent boy, full of potential.” Stefan folded his arms behind his back and stood his ground.

Mac sneered. “Full of potential for violence,” he retorted. “The FBI is very interested in this so-called delightful boy. They have files full of his crimes.”

Stefan’s right eyebrow rose. “Since when do files equate crimes, Commissioner?”

Mac sputtered around and then narrowed his eyes as he tried another angle to chip away at this composed man in front of him. “Are you a citizen, Mr. Cassadine? Are you familiar with American law?”

Stefan’s face darkened as he understood the intent of Mac’s questioning. “I’ve been a resident of Port Charles for thirteen years, and…” Stefan paused for dramatic effect. “…a naturalized citizen for ten years. As CEO of a major hospital, of course I am familiar with American jurisprudence.”

“But you also have control over a major international empire,” Mac countered.

“A multinational corporation,” Stefan replied evenly. “It’s the nineties, Commissioner, the business world has become international, unlike the narrow focus of the local police department.”

“You can’t hide the kid at your gloomy mansion forever, Stefan. He’s going to be questioned.”

“He’ll remain at Wyndemere as he recuperates. This is no secret. The courts have been notified of his change in residence.”

Mac’s face turned red. He wasn’t used to such a formidable opponent as Stefan Cassadine. The man’s self-assurance was maddening, and no angle presented itself for Mac to gain a toehold. He changed his line of questioning. “A man was reported as deceased under suspicious circumstances in the ER this morning.” Mac flipped through his notebook. “He had a gunshot wound to the leg. He shouldn’t have died. What do you know about this?”

“Any death is unfortunate,” Stefan agreed. “The body was transported to the morgue, that’s all I know.”

“The morgue never received a victim with a gunshot wound,” Mac stated firmly. “Where did this man go, Mr. Cassadine?”

Stefan frowned. “I have no idea. Protocol requires…”

“Screw protocol,” Mac huffed. “And that’s what you did, right, Mr. Cassadine?”

“As I said,” Stefan continued. “Protocol requires all deaths in the hospital to be investigated. The morgue should have the body.”

“But it doesn’t.” Mac insisted. “Where were you this morning?”

“I was at my home, having breakfast and reading the paper. It was my intent to work most of the day to catch up for the new week. I was behind in my paperwork, so I arrived here late this morning.”

“At what time?” Mac questioned.

“Between 10 and 11:30?” Stefan asked.

“You seem to be a precise man. Why can’t you recall the exact time?”

Stefan shrugged. “Every man needs a day of rest. I choose not to watch clocks on Sunday.”

“You get a lot done while you rest,” Mac said harshly.

“Thank you, Commissioner,” Stefan smiled. He gestured toward his desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my paperwork. As you can see, it’s piled up.” ***

Mac hadn’t bought Stefan’s evasive answers concerning the missing dead man issue, but he had absolutely no evidence that anything illegal had taken place. It didn’t matter so much what the Commissioner believed. He had no facts. Still, Stefan didn’t want the police to sharpen their focus on Frankie. He stroked his goatee again. There must be some way to deflect the spotlight away from his stepson.

~*~*~*~

Alexis had dropped off Ruby and Mrs. DeMarco to make some tea in the kitchen while she wandered around the house trying to find somebody. For as many people as Nikolas had implied were visiting Wyndemere, none ran out to greet her. She walked upstairs, figuring that someone would be with Lulu in her nursery. As she walked down the hallway, Laura darted out of a room and smiled when she saw Alexis.

“I was just going to call you,” she said.

“Nikolas beat you to it,” Alexis stated. “He said that Frankie was here, Luke was upset, and he was also trying to calm down Sly.”

Laura frowned. “Oh! I haven’t seen Nikolas. He must be in his room with Sly. Frankie is in his suite a few doors down, and Luke is resting in a guestroom. Let me show you to Luke.”

“Is he all right?” Alexis asked worriedly.

Laura shook her head. “Not really. Frankie is having some problems, and he took it rather hard. He’s very upset and on edge. I’m sure he needs you. Here we go.” Laura stopped in front of a room three doors down from the library. “He’s in there. You talk to him, and I’m going to find Nikolas and Sly.”

~*~*~*~

Alexis entered the darkened room and caught the outline of her husband lying on his back in bed with a white washcloth draped over his forehead. She tiptoed over to the bed and sat down gently on its edge. “Luke?” she asked quietly.

“Mmmm,” Luke mumbled as he opened his eyes and woke up from his nap. “Alexis?”

“Nikolas called me and asked me to come here. He said that you were upset.”

Luke pushed himself up into a sitting position and laid the washcloth to the side of him. He groaned, running his hand over his eyes. “That’s an understatement,” he commented wryly. “Discombobulated, wacked out and freaked out. That’s a more accurate description.”

“Laura told me that Frankie is here and that some problems arose.”

“Yeah,” Luke sighed. “He never recovered from shooting that hitman, and he seemed to disintegrate. When we finally got through to him, he became the official mascot of Frank Senior. He talked about killing people and of course demanded his guns and booze.” Luke’s voice changed and took on a tearful, plaintive tone. “I’ve lost him, Alexis. I’ve lost him for good.” A fat tear ran down Luke’s cheek, and Alexis’ heart broke watching the depth of her husband’s pain. She reached out a gentle hand and stroked away the physical representation of his hurt.

“I don’t know about that,” she said quietly. “It’s not over. Don’t give up hope. I know it’s hard, but you can stay strong if you lean on me.”

Luke’s tears glistened in his sad eyes, and he hugged Alexis with a desperate intensity. Alexis separated from him after several minutes and looked him in the eye. “Let’s locate Sly and go home,” she said. “Laura, Ruby and Mrs. DeMarco can take care of Frankie for tonight, and we’ll concentrate on our other son. He needs us, too.”

* lyrics from “Amazed” by The Offspring

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