Fallen Angel - TOC

Chapter 58

Frankie sat rigidly in a borrowed wheelchair in front of the psychiatrist's large oak desk, which was covered with desk toys and accessories. His attention was momentarily diverted by the bobbing ostrich moving rhythmically in his field of vision. The bird had a red bottom, top hat on its head and a clear glass beak, which seemed to move up and down by grace of a magnetic, gravitational pull. Frankie's mind felt fuzzy as he watched it closely, and soon it seemed like he wasn't watching it at all. His eyes glazed over, and the psychiatrist observed him, glancing at his watch to time how long he remained that way.

After two minutes, Frankie made a harrumph noise and stirred in his chair, positioning himself more rigidly, banging his foot against the metal footrest and glaring at the man in front of him. He knew he'd promised his dad that he'd cooperate, but there was no way he was going to have a conversation with this man without his attorney present. He wasn't stupid enough to allow himself to be tripped up and farmed back to the jail. His life was littered with criminal activity, and he knew he'd slip up and confess something if he waxed eloquent. Frankie's eyes squinted deviously. How should he manage this person? Luke had said he'd be out in two days, but that was a long time to be captive in this facility. The tests were no big deal. The ones he'd already taken had been pretty stupid. Anyway, he could protest that he'd taken them under duress if it came to that. A stray thought floated through Frankie's mind, and he laughed out loud as he shook his head.

"What are you thinking?" the man asked him.

Frankie smirked. "Dose fucking cops forgot dat I didn't answer when dey read me my rights. Pansies." He threw back his head and laughed in delight. Stupid cops. Dey tripped up. I'm free as a bird. He turned his wheelchair around with some difficulty in the small office.

"Where are you going? We're not through," the man insisted.

"I'm through," Frankie sang out. "Cops got nothing on me. I don't hafta be here, and I'm not goin' to jail neither."

"You're here by a court order," the man reminded him. "If you attempt to leave, you'll be violating that order, thereby committing a crime."

"Shit," Frankie muttered under his breath. Why me? When he turned back his wheelchair, he said, "Whatever," in a defiant tone of voice. He affected a bored look and folded his hands in his lap, sighing with deep resignation. Jerk. What until I get my hands on a laptop. I'll find out his weak spot. Den I'll be in charge.

"Are you aware of why the court ordered this stay?" the man asked.

"It's my get out of jail free card," Frankie smirked.

"You're here to receive a psychiatric diagnosis and treatment plan, which you will be expected to cooperate with. This is a condition for having the charge of resisting arrest dropped."

"So?"

"So let's have a conversation and get this ball on the road."

Frankie shrugged and looked away, bored again with the situation.

The man surprised him with the bluntness of his next statement. "Why did you try to kill yourself with a gun in a hospital waiting room?"

Frankie's face froze with surprise as his mind raced, trying to think of a way to backtrack out of the conversation. "It's no big deal," he stated breezily. "Dat's what Frank said to do if I got caught."

"He told you to commit suicide rather than be arrested?"

"Yep," Frankie said proudly. "Dat's it."

"And you always do what you're told? What did you think about such a request?"

"I'm a good second man," Frankie protested. "Of course I'd do it. Dat's da way it is. I don't get paid to think. I do what I’m told."

"Your father or the man you always assumed was your father is dead. Why do you talk about him in the present tense? It's my understanding that you are no longer part of the organization that this man built."

Frankie squirmed uneasily in his wheelchair. Hardass. "You can take da man from da organization, but you can't take da organization outta da man," he explained as if to a toddler. Frankie shot the man a superior look full of arrogance. Stupid. 

"Why do you insist on carrying firearms?"

What? Frankie paused. Frankie felt the situation slipping out of his control, and he didn't like it one bit. "Too bad I don’t have one now," he hinted ominously with a voice dripping in evil. After another pregnant pause, he startled the psychiatrist by pounding his fist on the wheelchair and yelling, "Cause den I can SHOOT any stupid prick dat gets in my face! How's dat?"

"And how many men have you shot?" the psychiatrist asked after he recovered from Frankie's outburst.

Frankie hemmed and hawed as his face sank. He crossed his legs and held his folded hands over his knees and then uncrossed them and placed his hands under his thighs where they remained. He couldn't seem to work his face into a mask of calm superiority much to his chagrin, and he continued to look blank and afraid. He blinked rapidly as he tried to think and reason. "I take da fifth," he replied softly.

"How many times has someone tried to kill you?"

Frankie cleared his throat and looked to his right side, refusing to meet the man's glance. He cleared his throat again and said, "I dunno. Maybe ten times?" His eyes looked sad. "Dey ain't done with me yet."

"You were shot and stabbed with a knife when you were ten years old. Can you tell me about that?"

Frankie trembled in his chair, and his legs seemed to take on a life of their own as they bobbed and jiggled restlessly. A bead of sweat broke out on Frankie's forehead, and he casually wiped it away. His stomach was in knots and hurt enough that he thought it would burst out of his abdomen. He looked down at the floor. "Don't matter; it's over."

"Are you saying you have no feelings about the attempted murder?"

Frankie coughed as his breathing quickened. A wheezing noise started as he tried to retain control over his lungs. He coughed again and tried to swallow, but his mouth had dried up in response to the fear that shot through his body from memories of that time.   "I hate da fuckin' Mafia, dat's what I feel," Frankie explained hoarsely. "Pigs. Dey're pigs." His chest was heaving with the exertion of his emotions, and he felt like he was leaving his body and floating around the room. His hand shook as he brought it to his forehead in an attempt to calm himself. His eyes caught on the bobbing ostrich again, and he soon became mesmerized by its movement, forgetting the feeling of not having enough oxygen.

"Tell me about your new family," the man said as he redirected the conversation to another topic.

Frankie didn't answer as his face took on a slack aspect. He stared straight ahead without blinking.

"Frankie?" the man asked in a loud voice. He clapped his hands, and Frankie's eyes took on a firmer focus. He closed his eyes for a moment and jumped when the man asked the same question about his new family. Frankie frowned and said, "I like Mama," in a distant voice. "She's pretty and has blond hair and I like da baby, too. She's sweet. Her name is Lulu. Stefan is okay. He's helping me with da businesses." Frankie paused and then opened his eyes, which had taken on a haunted look. "My Dad, my new Dad, he's nice to me, but he likes Sly better 'cause he's good. I'm bad. I'm no good." Frankie lowered his eyes and stared at the floor. He kept rubbing his palms on the underside of his sweatpants, and he lifted them to inspect their surfaces, wiping them and frowning. "I'm bad," he repeated in a soft voice. "I'm bad so what's he gonna do about dat?" he asked worriedly. Frankie sighed heavily and rested his head on his hand while he stroked his stomach with the other one and grimaced. "I don't wanna talk no more. My tummy hurts." Frankie sniffed and his eyes filled with tears. "I wanna go home." he said tearfully.

"We'll only talk for a few more minutes," the man stated with reassurance as he scribbled a series of notes on a pad of paper. He reviewed the files of interviews with Frankie's family and acquaintances.

"I understand you have a girlfriend," the man continued. "How did you meet? Tell me what she's like."

"Her name is Maxie," Frankie said with more vigor. He began perking up as he talked about her. "She's real beautiful with dese neat blue eyes and da long blond hair. I saw her in Kelly's da first day here." He laughed. "It was love at first sight, but I talked to her in da cafeteria all suave like and got her number. We went on a date before, um, before I went home to Atlantic City. She's visited me at da hospital and at Wyndemere. I like dat. I like Maxie." Frankie smiled as the pleasant memories ran through his mind. "I like her little sister, too. She's a good spy, dat Georgie. She told me how many times Maxie said she liked me." Frankie giggled and smiled broadly. "I bought her flowers, too. Pretty, like her."

The psychiatrist looked down at his notes. "I understand you've been sexually active since you were twelve?"

Frankie's face turned red. "Who told you dat?"

"If you're worried about confidentiality, all conversations in this office are private," the man answered.

"But you want to take notes," Frankie sneered. "Oh. Gotcha. Need some tips on da lovelife I bet." He looked the man over with disapproval. "How to pick da whore dat'll make you scream for joy. Aha." Frankie shifted in the wheelchair and took on a cocky attitude. "Frank had da whores galore. Pussy galore. Ahaha. Man, I miss Michelle. She was mine ya know. All mine." Frankie's face grew angry, and he harshly kicked the footrest of his wheelchair with his heel. "But she left, too. Everybody's gone. She won't come back. Wants an education. Whatever." A muscle in Frankie's face twitched, betraying the depth of his feelings about the situation.

"So your first sexual experience was with a prostitute?"

Frankie laughed. "ALL of da experience is with da prostitutes. Dat's what dey're for. Maxie don't want none of dat. She's my girlfriend."

"Do you feel that your first experience with a woman was positive?"

Frankie frowned, and his eyes darted around the room as unwelcome feelings welled up inside of him, threatening to take over. He held his hand firmly over his stomach, and his face took on a sickly aspect as his eyes darkened with anger. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her! he thought desperately. "I hate dat bitch," he replied in a low, dangerous voice.

"Who?"

"Dat fuckin' Cathy bitch, Frank's whore. She better hope dat's she's dead in da ground with Frank 'cause now dat's he's gone, I’m gonna kill her!" Frankie ground his teeth together and flexed his hands. 

"What did she do to upset you?"

Frankie bit down on his lip. "She ambushed me, okay? She made me do it. I didn't want to, but she..." Frankie jumped up from his wheelchair as the memories assaulted his consciousness and twisted his insides with fear and rage. He made a despairing noise as he turned around awkwardly and ran for the door the best he could with his bad leg dragging behind him. "I can't talk about it. I'm not gonna talk no more!" he cried out as he pulled open the door and flung himself out into the hallway. He stumbled to his knees and retched repeatedly as sick waves of nausea overtook him.

~*~*~*~

Back in Tahiti...

Nikolas and Athena lay nakedly intertwined under the light covering of the canopied mosquito netting. Two candles were lit in the room, and they cast their warm glow onto the young couple, illuminating their features and bathing them in golden light. Nikolas rose up on his elbow and stared down at Athena's face as his index finger lazily traced her pretty features - first the perfectly arched eyebrows, then the length of her aquiline nose and finally the curved bow of her mouth. "I love being with you," he murmured. "I feel so good. I never want to be apart from you." Nikolas nestled closer to Athena, and she lazily ran her fingers through his fine, black hair as he sighed and smiled.

"I like being with you, too," she reminded him.

Nikolas gazed into her eyes and said softly, "In my mind, I can still see you the first day we met."

"It was raining, I was miserably soaked, hiding underneath a tree, and a gallant young man approached me with an umbrella," Athena interrupted with a laugh. "All I could see at first was the huge umbrella."

"It was the umbrella you wanted," Nikolas pouted.

"Until I looked closely at the warm, handsome young man who was holding it," Athena teased. She leaned in to softly kiss Nikolas on the lips. "You took my breath away."

"And then I gave it back to you," Nikolas replied lasciviously. His lips worked with amusement as he tried not to laugh. "Like this," he said as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to his chest, skin on skin. He ran his hands through her curly hair and kissed her with abandon.

When they pulled away, Nikolas gazed into Athena's eyes and felt his breath catch in his chest. I love her so much. He turned and sought out the black silk boxers that he'd so carelessly thrown to the floor in a previous moment of passion. "I'll be back," he whispered with a finger wagged in her direction. "Don't go away."

"Never," Athena purred as she rubbed the warm spot on the sheets where his body had lain.

~*~*~*~

Frankie was on his hands and knees making retching sounds but not producing anything as it had been a long time since he'd eaten food or drunk fluids. He reached for his stomach as it still twisted and burned with nausea. He slapped his hand back down on the floor and hung his head as he started crying. The sounds of his sobs were echoing down the hallway when the psychiatrist exited his office and squatted down beside the boy.

"I'm sorry you're so upset," he said gently. "I didn’t know. I shouldn't have pushed you."

Frankie didn't reply but sat back on his haunches and rested his forehead on his knees as he wrapped his hands around his head. He rocked slightly and soon his sobs grew less intense, reducing themselves to soggy mutters and deep breaths.

"There are two comfortable chairs in this hallway, right behind us," the man offered. "Let's sit there for a minute."

Frankie rose from the floor and staggered back to a chair, sitting down and holding his hands around his midriff as his head hung down. His muscles trembled and jerked with his racing emotions, but he stopped sobbing for the moment.

"How are you feeling?" the man asked quietly.

"I don't feel good," Frankie gasped. He rocked slightly in the chair. "It hurts. My guts are everywhere all over da place, and I can't put it back together. I can't control nothin'. It's all coming out."

The psychiatrist realized that Frankie was mainly talking about his thoughts and emotions rather than his physical injuries, and he was considering ways to help the boy calm down when a colleague stepped up to them to see if he could help. The psychiatrist asked, "Would you bring us a Coke? A regular one with sugar? Thanks." He looked at Frankie again. "I think you'll feel better if you drink something."

"I want a beer!" Frankie protested. "Nobody will give me da beer no more. I want a beer."

The man's face softened with compassion as he had it in his notes that this boy was a longstanding alcoholic. He looked up with gratitude when his colleague rapidly returned with the drink. "Thanks John," he said quickly. He popped the top on the can and said to Frankie, "Take a sip. It should help settle your stomach."

Frankie accepted the can and drank a few sips. The motion of doing something normal like drinking was calming him down markedly, and he drank until he finished half of the can. "I still like beer better," he laughed. "Frank said if I wanted bubbles I could have beer. Aha."

"Why don't you finish up that can, and I'll walk you back to your room," the doctor suggested. "You can rest until lunchtime. Your mother will be joining you for lunch. I think you'd make her happy if you ate some food."

Frankie nodded. "Okay. I want to make Mama happy." He rubbed his stomach. "It don't hurt so much no more. Da cold feels good in it."

The psychiatrist guessed that the sugar was helping him feel better as well. Three days without food was a long time. He held out his hand for Frankie's empty can, and he returned to his office to collect Frankie's wheelchair. Frankie seemed deflated as he sat in the chair as if he had zero energy and needed to pace himself. He allowed himself to be wheeled down the hallway.

"You'll have some more written tests after lunch. Nothing stressful," the psychiatrist promised. "We'll talk again as a follow-up to the tests. I'll ask some more questions that relate to them. I'll try not to upset you, but will you tell me immediately if you feel like you can't contain it?" he asked, using Frankie's euphemism for an emotional meltdown.

"Yeah," Frankie replied tiredly.

~*~*~*~

Sly's hand was perched over the phone in the Wyndemere study as he glanced at his watch. It's noon. She said she could get to a pay phone if she ate her lunch quickly. His face relaxed into a broad smile when the phone rang.

"Hello?" Sly asked carefully. He looked over his shoulder to make sure that some evil servant wasn't lurking nearby.

"Sly!" Emily said excitedly. "I was worried that a servant would answer."

"Not unless they know a language other than Russian," Sly replied with a sigh. "Around here, it's like living with the Russian army. I keep expecting the firing squad."

"How are you?" Emily asked seriously. "I was worried about you all night. I could hardly sleep. Oh, and Frankie, too. I’m worried about him."

Sly laughed. "I appreciate you worrying about me, Emily, but I don't want you to lose your sleep. Not that your beauty needs it of course."

"What a charmer. You're so sly," Emily retorted.

"That's my name," Sly said in his best sexy boy voice.

"So you want to sneak off and meet me?"

"Yeah. I have to see you, Emily. I don't care if I'm supposed to be grounded. That's so lame anyway. I'm not going to show any more videotapes at school. They know that. What is two weeks apart from you going to accomplish? Besides, I really want to talk to you and hug you and give you a kiss..."

"Okay," Emily laughed. "You've talked me into it. Where should we go?"

"After school," Sly whispered, "you can meet me at the Wyndemere stables. I volunteered to muck out the stalls since Nikolas is missing. They think I'm such a good boy," he added with a laugh. "I'll muck them out before you come."

"Won't you stink?"

"I'll wash my hands and be careful not to get any horse poop on my clothes," Sly stated wisely. "I'll bring an extra set of Nikolas' clothes just in case."

"How long will we have?"

"Probably an hour," Sly estimated. "I think a servant comes by to feed the horses at five."

"See ya then!"

"Mmmm," Sly replied as he hung up the phone with a pensive look on his face.

~*~*~*~

"Look what we have here," Laura said brightly as she walked into Frankie's room followed by an orderly who wheeled in two lunches on a small table.

"Hi Mama," Frankie said softly. He was sitting in a wheelchair and moved it over to the table. He reached for a bottle of water and unscrewed the cap. Laura's watchful eyes caught the trembling motion of his hand as he raised it to his lips and drank down a few sips. He made a face. "I never drink water. Tastes yucky."

"It's good for you," Laura said brightly as she opened the lids to their lunches and handed Frankie a packet of utensils. "We'd better get started on these delicious lunches before they grow cold. Look. You have a nice slice of meatloaf and a mashed potatoes dish. I know meat and potatoes are your favorite."  Laura tried to be open and upbeat, but she watched Frankie with a sharp sense of concern. Luke had filled her in on the goings on of the previous evening and earlier that morning.

Frankie ignored her and looked down at his lap. His lips worked, and he seemed to be thinking out loud.

"Frankie?"

Frankie looked up at his mother's worried face. "What?"

"You're not talking to me. Is everything all right?"

"Will be when I get da fuck out of here," he answered angrily. He bit down on his lip as a despairing feeling rose within his chest. He didn't like being mean to his mama, but he couldn't bear to be near anyone and wanted to push her away.

Laura blinked back her surprise. "Frankie, please don’t swear."

"Whatever," Frankie's bored voice intoned. He picked up a plastic fork and jabbed it into the meat like he intended to kill it. He repeated the motion several times until the fork broke off in the dish. He immediately threw the broken off piece across the room and sat still with a murderous look on his face while he avoided returning his mother's gaze.

Laura looked carefully at her son as she began eating her food. She decided to try another tactic and discuss her day rather than ask Frankie to talk. "I spent the morning with Lulu," she said brightly. "She can almost smile now. I saw her looking at me with those big blue eyes and then her lips turned up."

Frankie stared at his plate with a lack of focus in his eyes as he distanced himself from her voice and presence. He mechanically picked up a spoon and held it curved in his hand, not unlike a toddler does when learning how to use utensils. He spooned up a dollop of his mashed potatoes and shoved it in his mouth. He repeated the motion without shifting his gaze. His jaws moved up and down several times, and then he swallowed. He reached for his bottle of water and drank it all down in one long gulping motion. He wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand and rose from his wheelchair as if he'd forgotten that he couldn’t walk properly. He shuffled and stumbled over to his bed and climbed on top of it, nestled himself into a ball and closed his eyes.

~*~*~*~   

Alexis laid the white cloth napkin over her lap and looked across the table at her brother. "Thanks for meeting me for lunch," she said gratefully. "I need someone to talk to, someone analytical and logical," she sighed. Stefan smiled at his sister and took her hand. It went without saying that they were both married to emotional, dramatic people, and the presence of a familiar mindset was a relief given the present circumstances of their lives.

Alexis' eyes filled with tears. "You're going to make me cry, you know." Stefan smiled and released her hand.  "Only a few months ago, I was single, and now I'm married and the mother of two boys, both of whom are having a hard time right now. Sly is so easy to comfort with a hug or a kind word, but Frankie..." Alexis let her words trail off as she looked down at her lap and the death grip she had on her napkin. "I tried to hug him, but...he can't even stand to be touched. I feel so helpless like I haven't a clue what to do." Alexis met Stefan's eyes. "And I'm worried sick about Nikolas. Are you sure there isn't anything I can do to help find him?"

Stefan's face set, and he shook his head. His features tightened, but he wasn't able to stop a few tears from forming in his eyes. He sniffed and looked away. "I have my legitimate government contacts working on it as well as a private investigator. When Frankie is released, he'll use his underground contacts to help me find his brother."

"Stefan, is that wise? Frankie recently sold the illegal businesses. Won't this pull him back into the life?"

"I won't allow that to happen. I'm primarily interested in his casinos and tourist related industries."

"You saw him at the hospital. What if he's unable to help out? I don't want him to be stressed. Luke and I are going to make sure that he's busy and involved in the normal teenaged activities."

"Which is exactly what he needs," Stefan concurred. "But he also needs to feel a part of this family, and helping his brother accomplishes that."

Alexis grew silent and continued to look uneasy.

"What is truly bothering you, Alexis?  I know you're concerned about Nikolas, but something else is troubling you."

Alexis shrugged and looked down. After a minute, she sighed and said, "I feel protective, that's all - due to my own upbringing. I don't think Nikolas feels loved or valued. He needs to feel like his father has a positive opinion about him. I know it wasn't your intention, but he seems to be locked out or apart from the relationship you have with Laura. He's a very lonely boy."

Stefan's eyes saddened, and he nodded. "I'm beginning to see that his mother and I have made mistakes. I've been traveling too much in recent years and haven't given the boy the time and attention that he deserves."

"I hope it's not too late," Alexis worried.

"I can't be. It won't be," Stefan said with determination. "I won't allow it."

"I'm sorry I'm being such a pessimist," Alexis replied with a half-hearted smile. She wrapped her hand around her glass of water and played with a descending drop of condensation that ran down its side. "Usually, it's my role to be an optimist, but somehow I keep feeling the past swirling around my feet like so much mud and grime. It wants to pull me under. Amazing how Helena can still wreak havoc from the grave. Will I ever be free from her abuse?"

"Mother left her mark on you in many ways, as she did us all," Stefan relied kindly. "I tried to help you when we were children, and I'm here for you now."

Alexis smiled through her tears. "Sometime it feels kind of good to have a big brother." She accepted the tissue that Stefan offered. "Especially when he comes prepared."

~*~*~*~

Laura stared in shock at her son lying on the bed. What was that? She rose from her chair and walked with some uncertainty to Frankie's bedside. She leaned against the bed and reached her hand out to stroke his hair. "Frankie, what's the matter? Will you talk to me?" she asked gently.

Frankie opened his eyes in response to her touch and curled up tighter. "Don’t wanna talk," he said softly. "I don't wanna talk no more."

"To me?" Laura asked for clarification. "Are you upset with me?"

"No, Mama."

"Why won't you eat?"

"My tummy hurts."

Laura took in a breath with her surprise. She rubbed his shoulder in a soothing motion. "I'm sorry. Do you know why it hurts?"

Frankie's face crumpled and began to turn red with his fierce emotions. "Noooo," he cried tremulously. He sighed deeply, and Laura felt powerless to help him.

"Hey, hey," she said quietly, much like she'd spoken to Nikolas when he'd stubbed his toe or fallen and skinned his knee as a small child. "I bet it would feel better if you ate some more." 

"Noooo," Frankie growled. "Everything hurts. My guts are falling apart!"

Laura's hand flew to her mouth in alarm, and she frowned as she tried to think of what to say or do. No words came to her, and she merely stood there staring at her son. Frankie hopped off the bed away from her and used his hands to pull himself along its length. Laura smiled when she saw that Frankie had returned to the dining table, but her relief was short-lived.

Frankie picked up his slice of meatloaf and squeezed it between his fingers until it fractured and fell into pieces on his plate. His face was cold and hard and impossible to read. He picked up the pieces and furiously threw them against the wall, and he stood with his back to his mother while his body shook with emotion.

"Why did you do that?" Laura asked in a low, breathless tone.

"Frank's dead. I don't gotta eat da meat and potatoes no more," Frankie said simply in a light, matter of fact voice. "I'll eat da fuck what I want."

Laura frowned as she noticed that Frankie stood for moments with the smear of meat and sauce covering his palms and fingers. That's not like him, she thought when he wiped them mechanically over his sweatsuit - over his thighs and chest. He's usually so fastidious and careful with his clothing.

Frankie stumbled over to a chair and pushed back with his foot until it banged against a wall. "I'm goin' to Italy," he said softly. "I need clothes."

"I bought you some clothing," Laura pointed out helpfully as she remained standing beside his bed. "I know you need more, but we can go shopping here in the states. We can take a trip to New York City if you want."

"I'm going to Italy!" he screamed with rage. Laura jumped back with tears in her eyes, and her heart raced with adrenaline.

Frankie huffed and puffed. "Da Armani! It got...it got shot. It's ruined."

"We can replace it," Laura said carefully.

"NO! I want my clothes. I want my clothes back. Dey're gone. Dey're burnt up!" he said with a sob.

Laura thought he was talking about more than items of clothing, but she wasn't confident in her ability to read him. She remained silent, hoping he would explain himself or calm down on his own.

Frankie rose from the chair and hugged the wall, using it to steady himself as he moved across the room to a corner. He very slowly sank to the floor and turned his back to his mother. Laura instinctively followed her son, and she knelt beside him. "I'm sorry you're so sad," she said softly. She reached out a hand to stroke his hair, but paused with it midair as she felt that Frankie didn't want her touch. His shoulders were hunched up as if he were anticipating her approaching hand and preparing himself to reject it.

Frankie turned his head slightly. "I wanna call Johnny."

"Can it wait until you leave tomorrow?"

"I wanna call him now," he mumbled and then turned his face to the wall again.

Laura frowned as she wasn't sure what to do. She definitely wanted him to eat something. "Will you eat a peanut butter sandwich if I buy one at the cafeteria?" she asked softly. "I want you to have something in your stomach." Laura had usually been able to persuade Nikolas out of a bad mood or upset with the promise of peanut butter. She figured she'd give it a try with her younger son.

Frankie shrugged. Little did mama know but peanut butter was his favorite when he'd been able to sneak some at the mansion. "Okay," he said with soft regret.

"I'll be back in a minute," Laura stated as she rose to a standing position.

"I wanna call Johnny," Frankie said persistently.

Laura looked at her purse and back to her son. "Okay," she decided. "If you promise to eat the sandwich that I bring back, I'll allow you to use the cell phone while I’m gone. Do we have a deal?"

Frankie turned slightly, and a manipulative grin spread slowly across his face as a spark lit in his eyes. "Sure thing, Mama."

~*~*~*~

Nikolas returned to the bed with a mischievous look on his face and his arms crossed behind his back. Athena grinned at the sight of a nearly naked Nikolas, and she sat up in bed. "What are you doing?"

Nikolas smiled. "I have something to ask you," he said softly.

Athena's eyes widened with surprise when he suddenly knelt in front of her and took her hand. Her other hand pulled the sheet closer to her chest to cover herself up. "Nikolas?" she whispered.

"Athena, I love you with all my heart. Will you marry me?"

~*~*~*~

Frankie cleared his throat and shook his head as he stood up straight with shoulders pulled back and a frown on his face. He had to get this right. He'd just called information, and they'd given him the number to the principal's office at PCHS. When the secretary answered with her bored drawl, he said in a low, firm voice, "This is Commissioner Mac Scorpio. I need to speak with my daughter, Maxie Jones. Will you please allow her to leave class so that she can come to the phone? It's a family emergency."

The older woman sat up straighter in her chair and removed the bright red fingernail polish she'd been playing with from the desktop, sliding it into a top drawer. "Why, yes, Commissioner. I'll have her paged." She nervously patted her semi-beehive hairdo.

"Good," Frankie said in his best Mac imitation. "I'll hold the line." He held his breath and then giggled with his hand held over the phone when he heard the loud, echoing page being broadcast throughout the school. Chumps. Glad dey're so stupid. He waited impatiently, tapping his foot and looking around the room. Looks like a hospital room, but I’m locked in, he reflected. His nostrils flared with deep emotion. I could kill somebody for doing dis to me. His eyes narrowed with anger, and he kicked the wall with a loud, satisfying sound. Maybe I can rip up da joint. Dat'd be better dan takin' dis shit. I'm a Sm...Spencer. Don't gotta take no shit from nobody. Don't mess with me.

"Hello?" Maxie's worried, breathless voice answered the phone.

"Don’t react," Frankie cautioned. "Keep your face neutral. It's Frankie. It's me. I couldn't think of another way to talk to you, so I imitated your step dad."

Maxie's face twitched with amusement, but she sighed deeply and composed herself. "I'm glad you called," she said neutrally.

"Me, too," Frankie sighed. "It's great to hear your voice. Listen, Maxie. I got into some trouble, see? Dat's why I couldn't email you or nothin.' You're not mad at me, are you?" Frankie bit down on his thumb as he waited for her answer.

"No," Maxie stated. "But what do you mean by trouble." Her eyes darted over to the older woman who was hanging on to her every word. Get a life you old bat.

"I can't talk about it," Frankie said with a slightly strangled voice. He held his hand over his stomach and grimaced as his eyes teared up. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'll be free in about two days," he promised. "I'm gonna have a package delivered to you. Will you hide it for me? Don't open it."

"I don't know," Maxie started with a worried tone.

"Just do it for me, okay? I can explain later."

"Okay," Maxie agreed reluctantly. "I'll watch for it. Georgie will, too.

"Good," Frankie said with relief. "Good. Okay, I wanna see you. Maybe you can bring da package and hide it in da woods by da school. Den, I'm gonna come and pick you up in my car, da black BMW. You remember it?"

Maxie smiled. "Sure do." Her mind drifted to their first date and the wonderful, soulful kiss that she'd received in Frankie's car. Dang, he was a good kisser.

Frankie rubbed his forehead as his mind ran at a furious pace. "Two days from now, after school, retrieve da package and wait outside by da entrance. I'll pick you up at 3:30PM pronto."

Maxie's mouth worked as she tried not to giggle. Frankie was so intense and passionate about everything, even picking up packages and giving rides. "Yes," she agreed. "You'll explain then?"

"Sure thing," Frankie replied. "I gotta go, but I really, really, really miss you, Maxie. Can we kiss and hug and stuff when I see you?"

"Sure thing," Maxie replied merrily. "Bye." She handed the phone back to the secretary. "Thank you," she said simply. "It was family business. It's taken care of."

~*~*~*~

Frankie's fingers rapidly dialed over the phone as he looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was entering his room. Come on, come on, he thought irritably. Answer da phone.

When the phone picked up, Frankie's face turned hard, and he said forcefully. "It's Frank Smith, Junior. You remember our arrangement? Yeah. I need three more and another vest, no make dat two vests. Send 'em out tomorrow."

He listened intently. "I know it's last minute, but dat's da way it is. I'll pay ya double, okay? Yeah, I thought dat would help. Send it to Maxie Jones, Port Charles, New York. Address is 115 Red Leaf Lane. Don't put my name on it. Thanks. Bye."

Frankie rested the cell phone under his chin.  Good thing I planned ahead and kept some people as contacts. Dey come in handy. His fingers moved swiftly over the phone again, and he smiled broadly when Johnny answered his cell phone.

"Hey, Johnny, it's Frankie." He frowned when Johnny interrupted him.

"Frankie? Are you all right? I thought you were at the hospital."

"I am," Frankie gritted out angrily. "I got a cell phone. Now, be quiet a sec. I need to know what ya did with da money, with da money dat Corinthos gave me for da businesses. Da nine million dollars. It was in da pocket to my dead Armani." A nervous giggle rose within him, but he quickly squelched it with his anger.

"It's safe, Frankie. I deposited it in your Cayman account."

"Da personal one?"

"Yes. I figured that's where you'd want it for now. What's going on, Frankie?"

"Nothin,'" Frankie lied. "You're outta da business now, right?"

"And so are you..."

"Whatever!" Frankie growled. "I'm askin' if you're workin' for me, on my payroll still. Or are you're da paramedic dude already?"

"I've started my paramedic studies. Since you've sold the businesses, you don't need my services as a bodyguard anymore. But, Frankie, I'll always be your friend. You know you can count on me, call me anytime day or night, if you need anything. We're straight on that, aren't we?"

"Sure," Frankie said offhandedly. "Thanks for answering my question. Bye." He hung up on Johnny, and a sad, slightly desperate look invaded his features. He's not my man no more. I'm on my own. His hand gripped tightly on the phone. One more person I gotta talk to. I really need to. A feeling of panic rose in his chest. He sighed and began dialing but stopped when he heard the door to his room open. "Mama," he smiled angelically. "Thanks for da use of da phone," he said as he waved it in the air. "I talked to Johnny. It's cool."

Laura smiled as she walked over to her son and accepted the phone. "I did find you a peanut butter sandwich. Actually, I bought one for myself, too. Maybe you can help me if I can't finish it."

Frankie shrugged and took his seat at the table. His eyes glittered angrily as he looked down at the ruined meat and potatoes dish. He accepted the sandwich and used the white tablecloth to cover over the plate so he didn't have to look at it. He munched on the sandwich, finishing it in record time as his worried mother looked on.

~*~*~*~

Felicia was waiting for her daughter when Maxie returned home from school. Maxie looked nervously at her mother, who wasn't usually sitting in the living room on the edge of a chair with an erect posture and a tense look on her face.

"Mom? What's up? You look upset." Please don't let me be in trouble again.

Felicia rose from the chair and approached her daughter. "I am, a little," she admitted as she wrapped an arm around Maxie. Felicia looked directly into Maxie's eyes. "It's Frankie. There's something you should know."

Maxie wrinkled her nose. "What?"

Felicia sighed and rubbed Maxie's arms. "Honey, he tried to kill himself two days ago. He was in jail for awhile, and now he's in the hospital. Mac had to arrest him because there was a shooting that he was tied to. Apparently he was hurt somehow, and the police tried to arrest him at the hospital, but he resisted arrest and then put a gun to his head. I'm so sorry, honey. He's okay now. He's in the hospital for a few days. I thought you should know."

Maxie's eyes reflected a mixture of confusion, fear, sadness and anger. Felicia felt her daughter's body radiate with tension. Maxie gulped slowly as her mind tried to process what her mother had just told her. But I spoke to him a few hours ago. He sounded okay, well, maybe a bit tense for him. What's this all about?

Next chapter...