Fallen Angel - TOC

Chapter Sixty

Frankie was seated on a countertop in the kitchen of Kelly's Diner with his arms wrapped around Maxie and a sly grin spreading across his face.  "I like dis," he exclaimed with dancing eyes. He leaned in to kiss her lightly on the lips.

"Thank goodness for your mother," Maxie said. "She's responsible for talking my mother into letting me come."

"Mama's cool," Frankie agreed with a nod.

"Yes, she is." Maxie was a little breathless being in such close proximity to Frankie and his deep, blue eyes. They were eye to eye with Frankie seated in front of her, and it was an entirely convenient setup for kissing. Frankie nestled into her arms, wrapping his good leg around her, and she found herself rubbing his arms as they necked for long minutes. She's already tried to rub his back, but he'd yelped in pain and pulled back.

"You feel so good," Frankie murmured when they finally parted with their faces inches away from one another. He leaned his forehead against Maxie's, and she whispered worriedly, "Are you okay, Frankie?" When he didn't answer, she continued. "My mom told me what happened. Why did you want to hurt yourself? Your parents are real nice, and so many people care about you. I do, and even Georgie has a little girl's crush on you."

Frankie separated from Maxie and nervously ran his fingertips along the smooth surface of the utilitarian, laminated countertop. His face remained stiff and impossible to read as he frantically tried to hide his emotions from the girl in front of him. A stab of fear hit him in the chest when he wondered if he'd lost his girlfriend by his actions. "How did your mom know?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice. He paused and laughed brittlely. "Oh. Mac - da fuzz with da big mouth. Great stepfather you got dere."

Maxie frowned. "Mac's a good stepdad. I care about him."

Frankie pulled on Maxie's hand to bring her toward him. "I know," he replied softly. "I knew it when I met ya. It's okay." He sighed deeply and hugged her with a desperate intensity as if he were afraid she'd reject him. "I had to do it," he whispered into her ear. "I messed up too bad. Frank, he said I had to do it."

Maxie could feel Frankie shaking slightly with the intensity of his emotions, and she remained in his arms. "Don't listen to him," she whispered back into his ear.

"I can't help it. He's in my head. I'm confused."

"Why?"

Frankie shrugged. "He said one thing, and Luke, my real dad, he says another. Who do I believe?"

"Believe Luke," Maxie insisted. "He'd never tell you to hurt yourself, would he?"

"No," Frankie mumbled hesitantly. "But what if I make him mad? I don't know what he'll do, and it makes me nervous."

"Oh, and you haven't made him mad yet?" Maxie teased. "He was plenty upset with Sly and all he did was ground him."

"Yeah, dat's right," Frankie agreed. "I know I've pissed him off big time. I got a big mouth."

"Really?" Maxie asked with mock surprise as she pulled back and shot him an amused look.

"Hey," Frankie protested. "Dis mouth likes to kiss you."

"And this one says go right ahead." Maxie kissed him with an intensity that surprised Frankie since he was the one used to being the aggressor. It felt good for a change to have someone pursue him. Maxie ran her fingers through his hair, and he nearly melted with pleasure, moaning and placing his hands on her hips to roughly bring them against his.

"Oops."

Frankie and Maxie looked toward the door with startled glances. Sly and Emily were holding hands and hovering near the entrance of the commercial kitchen. "We were looking for a place, um. Well, it looks like you found one," Sly stuttered. He looked over at his companion as he blushed. "Oh. We'll be going now."

"Supply room," Frankie stated with authority as he pointed toward the hallway. "Second door on the right."

Sly laughed nervously and glanced at Emily to gauge her reaction. "Uh. Thanks. Let's go, Emily." He led her toward the back door. "Let's get some fresh air. I don't want to be caught making out in a supply room. I'm walking on shaky ground as it is. I’m glad my dad let us be together tonight for the party."

"Your dad is nice. He's not like mine. My dad thinks anything he says should be engraved in stone and mounted on a wall at GH," Emily complained with a pout as she followed Sly outside.

"We got interrupted," Frankie said in a low voice.

"Good timing," Maxie remarked. "You're going to get me into so much trouble, Frankie."

Frankie smirked as he raised an eyebrow. "Dat's what I specialize in. Trouble - of da amorous sort."

Maxie blinked sharply. Was he talking about all the other girls he'd dated? "You've been on a lot of dates?" she asked carefully. "I've only gone out with two other guys."

Frankie turned red and swallowed, angry with himself for bringing up a topic that might hang him. He cleared his throat. "I never been on a date before I met you," he said airily. "You're da first."

"Really?"

Frankie laughed. "Couldn't ya tell from my phone calls? I had da script. I didn’t know what to say."

Maxie stroked her chin. "Aha. The football questions."

Frankie blushed. "Yeah. Stupid. But I was nervous. Sly wrote the questions for me. I shoulda reviewed 'em before."

"Sly lives up to his name," Maxie commented.

"Watch out for da quiet ones," Frankie agreed with a grin. He kissed Maxie, rubbing her lips with an insistent elegance born of experience.

"How did you learn to kiss so well if you didn't date?" Maxie queried. Her personality couldn't help but genetically betray her father and mother's detective skills.

Frankie rubbed his lips together as his thoughts raced. "Um. A girl taught me. She was no date, though. Dat's all."

Maxie's eyes twinkled. "She taught you well."

"I know," Frankie answered sexily. "I'm a quick learner." He paused as another thought entered his mind. "Uh, Maxie, did dat package come?"

Maxie nodded seriously. "It came. I signed for it and hid it in the woods the next day - like you said. Now, are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

Frankie shook his head. "No. You don't wanna know. It's about protection. Business stuff. But thanks. I'll pick you up at school in two days. Remember?"

Maxie nodded, but she felt an uneasy feeling rising within her gut, a feeling that resembled instinct, a self-protective instinct. Why was he being so evasive and why was she helping him if she didn't know what he was doing?

~*~*~*~

"Party's breaking up," Frank Sinatra announced as he wheeled Frankie's chair into Kelly's kitchen. He'd paused outside the doorway first until he'd heard the sound of Frankie and Maxie's voices.  He'd remembered his own amorous teenaged days and knew the dangers inherent in walking into rooms unannounced.

"Frank!" Frankie said happily. "I'm so glad dat you came. I missed ya. Are you gonna stay in Port Charles for awhile?"

Frankie shook his head sadly. "I have a performance tomorrow. Believe it or not, people still want to hear me sing at my old age."

"Dat's 'cause you're cool," Frankie said knowingly. "I want ya to come to my casinos in Europe."

Frank shook his head. "Too far for this old man, kiddo. I stay close to home these days. Come on, big guy," he stated as he helped Frankie from the countertop and into the wheelchair. Frankie sighed and rubbed his head. "Long night for you," Frank commented. "Why don't you come out to my limo and talk to me for a minute before I leave?"

"Okay," Frankie stated.

"I'd better find my mom," Maxie announced. "She probably wants to leave. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Sinatra. Thanks for singing tonight."

"It was my pleasure, Miss Maxie," Frank nodded with a twinkle in his eyes. "Any friend of Frankie's is a friend of mine. You remember that."

"I will," Maxie said with delighted surprise, charmed by a man in his eighties.

Frank shook her hand and lifted it to kiss it. "Goodbye, Maxie."

"I'll send ya an email," Frankie called out over his shoulder. "Okay?"

"Sure thing," Maxie replied quickly with a wave and one of Frankie's favorite phrases.  

Frank Sinatra wheeled Frankie out the back door to his waiting limo and helped Frankie into the spacious back seat. He opened up the copious bar and offered Frankie a soft drink.

"No beer?" Frankie teased.

"Not for the likes of you, ya hooligan," Frank smarted back as he jabbed Frankie in the ribs. "I know your kind."

"Cause you were just like me when you were fifteen," Frankie quickly replied with his part of their private joke.

"You betcha," Frank answered. His face turned serious as he regarded the injured young man beside him. "I was plenty worried about you, kid. When I heard that Frank was killed, I think my heart stopped."

Frankie nodded seriously as he took a sip of his Coke. "Me, too," he said sadly. "I saw it. I saw him die in my arms. He was all covered with blood." Frankie voice choked up, and he held a hand over his eyes.

Frank placed a gentle hand on Frankie's shoulder. "I know you were close to your old man, hip to hip as it were. He was a tough man, but I'm sure you loved him. He was your pop."

"Not really," Frankie gritted out. "Seems he kidnapped me. I wasn't his at all. I'm with my real parents now."

Frank's face turned red. He'd stopped socializing with Frank nearly twenty-five years ago. Twenty-five years ago, Frank Smith had primarily been a casino owner with minimal criminal ties, only enough to make him interesting to hang with, and the two men had shared a love of showgirls and jokes. But, Frank Smith had grown increasingly dangerous and remote with a definite evil streak. Sinatra had chosen to keep a breezy, casual relationship with the man for business purposes but avoided him when possible. It didn't surprise him to hear Frankie declare that he'd been kidnapped. It was just the warped sort of thing that Smith would do.

"Hey, I'm sorry, kid. I didn’t know about that. All I knew was the cutest kid in the world who liked to sing my songs. I care about ya, kid. Don't forget that. You're like one of my own grandkids."

"Thanks," Frankie said in a small voice. "I love ya, too, Pops."

Frank reached out and hugged Frankie. "I want you to keep me up to date on what you're doing. You'll drop me a line, won't you? I don't do that newfangled email stuff. Too old to learn."

"I could teach you," Frankie replied enthusiastically.

"I bet you could. I might take you up on your offer," Frank replied. He rubbed Frankie's hair affectionately. "Do you wanna come visit me this Christmas? You know how I like those big family bashes. I'd be honored if you'd join us."

"Yeah," Frankie said. "I wanna come. I'll send ya some snail mail, too."

"Great. How about if I help you back into your wheelchair. Then I can get these old bones home."

"Thanks, Frank. Thanks for coming. It means a lot to me." Frankie looked with appreciation at the old man with white hair and impossibly blue eyes. He'd felt so relaxed to be with someone from the old days, someone who'd known him since he was a toddler and liked him anyway.

~*~*~*~

Bobbie was behind the counter, cleaning up the festive mess of many people enjoying cake and ice cream, and Johnny was leaning against the countertop, lost in a deep conversation with his lady love.

"Hey, Johnny," Frankie called as he wheeled his chair closer to him. Frankie's earnest face sought out Johnny. "Thanks for helping set dis up and for finding Frank. It made me feel real good."

Johnny turned around and smiled. "That was the point. You deserved a nice party with some good friends, friends from the old and the new days. Lots of people are happy to have you around."

Frankie's face turned sad as he lowered his eyes. "I been kinda mean to you," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. I've been tense."

Johnny smiled at Frankie's understatement. "No hard feelings. Hey, Rickie is coming to visit me soon. Would you like to hook up with him? It's been awhile since you two have seen one another."

"Coupla years," Frankie remarked. "Yeah, I'll see Rickie. He's a smart kid. We used to talk and stuff." Frankie looked appraisingly at Johnny and Bobbie. "So you're staying in town den?"

Johnny nodded. "I just found an apartment by the hospital."

"And da redhead," Frankie joked before he realized what he'd said. He blushed and looked over at Bobbie with a stricken expression on his face. Bobbie looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. "Um, dat's what I used to call you, Aunt Bobbie - before I knew you were my aunt," he explained. "Sorry."

Bobbie's eyes sparkled as she laughed. "Kid, you remind me of your dad. Boy, do you ever. No harm done."

"Who is like his dad?" Luke joked as he stepped up behind Frankie and placed his hands on the boy's shoulders.

"Me," Frankie stated proudly with a thumb extended toward his chest.

Luke laughed and rubbed his arms. "You look beat, son. Ready to go home?"

"Where's dat now?" Frankie asked tiredly.

Luke's brow creased worriedly. "Wyndemere until this weekend," he explained. "Then, you'll be with us for the weekend and the following week. The new house is all ready for you."

Frankie nodded and yawned loudly. "Okay," he said. "I wanna see da new place."

"It waiting for you," Luke answered.

"I'm sorry for being a butt when you brought me here," Frankie replied. "Dis was nice. Thanks."

Luke playfully bopped Frankie on top of his head. "You're forgiven."

~*~*~*~

Laura noticed that Frankie was very stiff and grimacing with pain when he was helped into the back seat of the Mercedes. He'd waved away her assistance with his seatbelt and had chosen to lie down on his side along the length of the car. "You missed your scheduled pain pill," Laura mentioned when they hit the road. "Are you doing all right?" She glanced over her shoulder when no reply came. "He's asleep," she whispered to Stefan. "He sleeps as soundly as Lulu sometimes.

Stefan nodded and concentrated on the road as it was a dark and rainy night. "What about the room?" he queried.

"It isn't finished yet," Laura whispered. "He can stay in the guest room. Don’t say anything. I want to surprise him."

Frankie's eyes popped open widely when he heard his mother's comments. Oh no! She's decorating my room, and I didn't get to tell her I hate dat French pansy stuff. Oh no.

"You made your selections based upon my recommendations, did you not?" Stefan asked seriously.

Laura nodded. "I know. No French Provincial. Keep it dark and masculine. I know. Honestly, Stefan, I didn't know you were so interested in decorating."

Frankie let out a tense breath. Thank you, Stefan. I'm gonna kiss your feet. Man, you saved my ass. I can't take dat pansy stuff. Not like Nikolas' room. No way.

"It's just that the purpose of decorating is to make one feel comfortable and at home," Stefan explained carefully. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground by making suggestions concerning Laura's favorite hobby as she prided herself on her exact, historically reproduced rooms. "I'd had the opportunity to discuss the boy's tastes with him when we conducted business."

Go Stefan! Frankie thought with amusement. Dat man is elegant. I like dat. He's saving my ass with style. Frankie let out a small sigh as he curled up in the back seat and promptly fell asleep, assured that Stefan had everything under control.

~*~*~*~

"Here you go," Laura said as she turned on the light in the guest room. "You're only two doors down from the master suite. Your room is undergoing some renovations, but it'll be ready in a day or two. This should be cozy."

Frankie's narrowed eyes surveyed the scene with its copious, gilded gold wooden surfaces and silk fabrics, and he decided that cozy was not an appropriate word to describe his surroundings. Opulent, effeminate, foolish. Those were words that fit. He smiled halfheartedly. "I'm tired, so it don't matter," he stated.

Laura pointed to a second, full sized bed. "Dr. Hill isn't here tonight, so I'll sleep in this bed in case you need anything. You're on medication, so you shouldn't be left alone." Laura tried to be casual in her statements, but the truth was that the psychiatrist at the hospital had recommended that Frankie not be left alone for long periods of time until it was evident that his antidepressant was working and he was settled into his surroundings.

"I snore," Frankie said airily. He sniffed and looked in his mother's direction. When his mother frowned, he laughed. "Aha. I'm only kidding. I'm too cool to snore."

Laura pointed in the direction of the adjoining bathroom. "Get in there and get ready for bed," she said with mock consternation. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

~*~*~*~

Sly tossed and turned, but he found it impossible to fall asleep. Maybe it was because he wasn't used to the new house yet. The noises it made at night were different, and the setting with the woods in the back produced eerie sounding animal noises or so he guessed. He'd grown used to the sounds of bar patrons, loud music and traffic in the apartment with Luke, but this was different. There were traffic noises at Aunt Bobbie's too, but none of this country nonsense. He sighed raggedly and threw off the covers. It was so dark in his room - no streetlights or neon signs to bathe the room in a glow of artificial light.

Sly padded with his bare feet down the carpeted hallway and toward the kitchen. He often indulged himself in cookies and milk when he was restless at night. A full stomach never seemed to fail him. He paused when he heard Luke and Alexis' voices drifting from the kitchen. It was a spacious country kitchen with room for a large oak table suitable for family dinners and long legged teenaged boys. They were seated at the table, and Luke was rifling through a pile of papers with a tense, upset look on his face. Alexis had on her reading glasses, and she leaned over toward Luke as she read what his finger pointed toward. Sly almost walked toward them but hesitated and remained unnoticed in the shadows of the hallway when he heard Luke's tone of voice. He'd never heard his father sound like that - ever. It was a combination of fear, sadness, desperation and anger all rolled up into one. Luke had always seemed on top of things, fearless really, but Sly blinked slowly as he absorbed Luke's mood, and he shivered at its implications.

"Oh, God, Alexis. What are we going to do? You've been reading these materials that the psychiatrist gave us. He has that dissociative disorder. It's obvious, isn't it?"

Alexis nodded gravely. "The evidence is there," she stated in her uniquely analytical way, but softened with the touch of her hand on his arm.

Luke drew in a deep breath that ended in a sob as he batted his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I love that boy with all of my being. It breaks my heart to think of what must have happened to him." His face grew angry as he jabbed his finger at the papers. "The whole first year of his life, I protected him. I watched over that boy as if he needed me to be there so he could breathe. I never, never wanted him to go through what I did. I wanted him to have the perfect childhood, to know that he was loved and cared for. This is all my fault. I never should have hooked up with Frank Smith." Luke slammed his fist onto the table and hung his head.

"This is a lot to absorb," Alexis said soothingly as she rubbed his back. "Give yourself some time. There's a lot of healing that needs to take place. For you as well as Frankie. You did your best. No one could ask for more."

"I should have known that he wasn't dead!" Luke insisted angrily.

"Are you psychic?" Alexis asked, removing her glasses and meeting Luke's gaze. "There was no way to know. The circumstances of his supposed death were horrifying enough to confuse the most logical of minds. How were you to know? You saw the destruction of the house, and there was a body."  

"Who was the body? What infant had to die so that Lucky could be kidnapped?" Luke questioned with a broken voice.

"Frank doesn't seem to have been a baby killer," Alexis explained. "Otherwise, he wouldn't have allowed Lucky to live. He would have killed him for his revenge. As disgusting as it sounds, he must have obtained a corpse from the morgue or by some other means. The infant was already dead when his body was planted in the house."

"A mind like that abused my son," Luke said with a brittle, harsh voice. "A sick man like that destroyed my son's mind."

"No," Alexis insisted with a determined voice. "Frankie is not destroyed. You know that, and I insist that you pull yourself out of this maudlin mood. I know it's hard, but we have the facts, so now we must deal with them. The focus should be on helping Frankie, not dwelling on the past or might have beens. You did your best in the past, and now you'll do your best in the present. The boy needs you to be strong for him. Give him your strength."

Luke sighed and rubbed his hair as he thought. "Logic. I need logic at a time like this. My emotions get the best of me. Thank you."

Alexis placed an arm around Luke's shoulders and squeezed. "Happy to oblige," she teased him. Alexis turned Luke's face toward her with a gentle motion of her hand on his chin. "I'm hurting, too," she said softly. "We need to feel the hurt, but we can't give up hope. We're going to make this family work through sheer will and determination as well as some help from the docs. Okay?"

Luke nodded wordlessly.

"Do you want some more tea?"

"Decaf?"

"It's on its way," Alexis replied as she rose from her chair. She walked toward the stove but stopped when she glanced toward the hallway. Sly was standing there, not moving a muscle, and obviously distressed. "Sly?" she asked gently. "What are you doing up? I thought you were asleep?"

Sly didn't reply or move, but his eyes slowly filled with tears. Alexis approached him as Luke watched from his seat at the table. She draped an arm around her new son and led him into the kitchen. "You couldn't sleep?"

Sly shook his head as he sniffed and rubbed his nose. He slumped into the seat beside Alexis and hung his head. "What's wrong, son?" Luke asked. He wasn't sure how much of their conversation Sly had overheard.

"I heard you talking," Sly mumbled. "About Frankie."

Luke cast a worried glance in Alexis' direction. "You heard me talking about how upset I am?"

Sly nodded. "Yeah. You never sounded like that before. It scared me."

Regret flooded Luke's chest, and he reached his hand over the table to enfold Sly's hand into his own. "I'm sorry, Sly. I didn't want you to hear me sounding like that. I'm sorry I scared you."

"What's going on?" Sly asked worriedly as his eyes first sought Luke's face and then Alexis'.

Alexis glanced at Luke and decided to tackle the topic. "You know that Frankie was kidnapped. Obviously someone who would kidnap an infant child from his parents didn't have very good morals, right?"

Sly nodded.

"Frank Smith was a bad man. There's no other way to state it. He treated Frankie unkindly from the moment he took him. He was abusive. That means he physically hurt Frankie and emotionally, too, by yelling at him, threatening him and cursing him. It's a terrible way to grow up, and it affected Frankie's mind."

Sly's mouth tightened to a white line, and he held his breath as he focused his intense concentration on his mother and the meaning of her words.

"You've noticed that Frankie acts different, especially when he's upset. You've told me that."

When Sly nodded and looked interested, Alexis continued. "The doctors think he might have a disorder. We've been discussing that and obviously we feel upset. That's what you overheard. Your dad desperately wanted to protect him but was unable because of Frank Smith's actions. It's hard to digest this. All I know is that we'll find a way to help Frankie when he comes to live with us, and you can be a part of the solution, too. We'll have a few sessions with the psychiatrist to set up some house rules so that we all know what is expected of us. You're used to rules from living under your dad's influence, so you can help Frankie to adjust, okay? He's not used to living this way. He's used to doing something only to avoid being hurt. It won't operate that way in this household, and perhaps you can reassure him if he seems nervous or upset."

"I can do that," Sly said firmly. "I know I can help."

Luke smiled with pride at his young son's determination. "You're a very special young man, Sylvester. I want you to know that.  You'll be an immense help around here."

When Sly noticed that Luke still seemed weary, he said, "I'm sorry you feel bad, Dad. I guess I don't understand everything, but I want you to be happy." Sly blinked back his tears. "You took me in when Bill died. And now you've adopted me. You're the best dad a guy could want. I'll make sure Frankie knows that."

Luke looked with surprise at the old soul who sat across from him at the table. "Come here," he said with a choked voice and outstretched arms. Sly rose and folded himself into Luke's generous embrace. Luke stroked his hair and said, "You're the best. I love you." When they separated, Luke looked earnestly at Sly. "If you have any questions or need to talk at any time, I want you to come to me or your mom. We're here for you. We don't want you to feel lost in the midst of Frankie's problems. You're important, too."

Sly smiled gratefully through his tears. "Okay."

"Come here," Alexis said gruffly as she gestured toward her son. "I need hugs, too."

~*~*~*~

Frankie had felt unsettled when he'd sunk down into his soft bed to sleep for the night. He was overtired from the party and excitement, jarred by the strange room, and worried about his relationship with Luke, Maxie and his mother. He hadn't forgotten that he was responsible for Nikolas' running away, even though everyone had been careful not to accuse him. His situation in Port Charles seemed tenuous, as if his every move would be evaluated and held as evidence for his new family and friends' eventual rejection. After minutes of tossing and turning, he'd finally fallen into a fitful sleep and promptly began dreaming. In his dream, he was twelve years old again, back in the dark woods behind the mansion with a gun to the head of a man kneeling before him. Frank's taunts and jeers filled his mind as he trembled, and he suddenly screamed when the kneeling man turned to look at him with his sad eyes. It was Luke! It was his dad. Frank grabbed him by the hand and forced him to fire four times into Luke's head. Frankie opened his mouth to scream in anguish and terror.

Laura's heart raced when she heard the piercing scream emitting from the direction of her son's bed. She hurriedly turned on the lamp beside her and jumped to her feet. "Frankie?" she asked in a tremulous voice.

Frankie was turned away from her, but he was thrashing around on his bed, and she could tell that his face was red. He didn't respond when she laid a hand on his shoulder to shake him, and she jumped back to avoid getting hit by his clenched fist. By now she could tell that his eyes were open, yet he didn't seem to be seeing. Stefan raced into the room wearing only silk boxers and a wildly swinging gold medallion with his usually immaculate hair askew. "Laura?" he questioned breathlessly. "What's wrong?"

Laura pointed toward Frankie as the tears trailed down her cheeks. "He seems to be having a dream, only his eyes are open. He nearly hit me when I tried to wake him up."

Frankie continued to scream and leaped out of the bed, nearly falling to the floor. In the distance, Lulu's cries were evident and becoming frantic. Laura's face tensed, and Stefan pointed to the door. "Go on. Our daughter needs you. I'll stay with him and find a way to reach him. Go ahead."

Laura nodded as she worriedly glanced at Frankie. She pulled her robe closer to her body and ran out the door.

Frankie was hopping backward on his one leg as he seemed to be trying to get away from whatever terrified him. Stefan noted his blank gaze and correctly guessed that the boy was in the midst of a flashback, perhaps brought about by a bad dream. He watched as Frankie cowered as if to ward off blows, but his heart clenched with fear when the boy suddenly stopped making noise as he whipped his head to the right and abruptly collapsed into a heap on the floor. Stefan raced over and knelt by the boy's side, checking him out to make sure he was physically okay. Frankie's eyes were closed, and he lay motionless in the position in which he dropped. His breathing was still audible and croupy sounding with the former ferocity of his panic. Stefan took his pulse and noted that it was racing. He patted the boy on the cheek. "Frankie. Frankie? Wake up now. It's time to wake up, son." When Frankie didn't respond, Stefan grew worried and wondered if he should call an ambulance. Maybe the boy was hurt in some way.

As Stefan was considering what to do, Frankie suddenly jerked and opened his eyes.  They still held a blank stare, and the boy scooted along the floor, patting all around with his hands and whimpering. He groaned and held his hand to his head as if it ached. He finally stopped moving yet still gripped his head. Stefan tried to reach Frankie again by loudly calling his name repeatedly and shaking the boy's arm. Frankie continued to moan as his vision cleared and his muscles relaxed. He seemed to melt into the floor and ceased his sad vocalizations, remaining still and silent. Laura appeared at the doorway with a newly soothed Lulu on her hip. A few tears still streaked Lulu's pink face, but she watched with fascination as her daddy talked to her brother. "How is he?" Laura asked worriedly. "What's wrong with him?"

"I think he's had a flashback to some former abuse," Stefan stated sadly. "He's coming around."  Stefan stroked the boy's hair and spoke to him in a low calm voice. "It's Stefan," he said. "You're okay. Let's get you back to bed." Stefan carefully pulled Frankie up from the floor and dragged him toward the bed, seating his stepson down on the mattress. Frankie trembled and his eyes darted around him in confusion. He didn't say anything, but started crying.

"Are you afraid?" Stefan asked gently. Frankie's lower lip stuck out, and he nodded seriously. "Do you want me to hold you?" Stefan asked. Frankie reminded him of Nikolas at age four when intense nightmares were frequent and frightening. His strong arms had always been able to calm his son. Stefan pulled Frankie towards him, and the boy rested his cheek against the medallion that hung down Stefan's chest. Stefan's arms enfolded him, and he instinctively rocked Frankie with a rhythmic motion that seemed to soothe the boy.  Laura's eyes filled with tears as she watched how gentle her husband was with Frankie.  She started in shock when Frankie suddenly began sucking on his thumb. "Stefan?" she asked in a shaky voice. Stefan looked down and saw what was bothering Laura. "He's all right," he explained. "Remember what the psychiatrist told us at Ivy Hills?"

Laura's lips tightened, but she nodded. She'd been hoping that their suspicions were wrong, but now it seemed like they were on the mark. His behavior at the hospital was also in line with the disorder. Stefan laid Frankie on his side and drew the blanket over him. "Close your eyes and go back to sleep," he said. "If you have another bad dream, I'll be here. Just call out my name." Frankie nodded and sighed as he closed his eyes and still sucked on his thumb.

Stefan walked up to Laura and whispered, "I'll stay with him for the rest of the night. Why don't you take Lulu back to the nursery and get some sleep?"

"Are you sure?" Laura questioned. "You have a long day tomorrow at the hospital."

Stefan nodded. "I promised him I'd be here. I believe he'll sleep soundly. He seems calm to me now." Stefan kissed the top of Lulu's head, and the small baby gurgled at him. "Goodnight, Lesley Alexandra."

~*~*~*~

Jason sighed as he flung his leather holster onto his bed. It had been a very long day with Sonny going nuts on him at every turn. The two men had tried to work out a plan to manage Frankie's businesses, but neither could decide on a workable arrangement. They were just too short staffed and didn't have nearly enough muscle to enforce their strategies. Jason turned his neck to the right to crack it and repeatedly flexed his biceps to loosen the tension that had crept into his muscles. All day long, he'd been thinking about his latest obsession. He would have given anything to be able to wear some of his new purchases.

Jason opened the top drawer to his dresser and smiled delightedly at his collection. He had worked is way up to thirty lipsticks and glosses in all of the best brands - MAC, Urban Decay, Bobbie Brown, and even the Maybelline Wet Shine Diamonds that he'd so admired on the television commercial. What was his pleasure tonight? Jason had taken to sleeping in full makeup as it was the only time that he could avoid detection. Boys weren't supposed to wear makeup, everyone knew that, but somehow the wires had become crossed in his damaged brain. Not only had his intelligence and emotional expression changed after the fateful automobile accident where his head had rammed into a tree, but something else more covert had awakened deep within.

Jason selected a bright red hue, his favorite shade, and slicked it over his lips, taking special care to line them first so he could foster the illusion of fuller lips. He smacked his lips together and smiled gaily into the mirror, admiring the reflection bouncing back at him. Next step was the lip gloss, and he delighted in the way that it made his lips seem to protrude from his face into a sexy pout. He trembled in anticipation when he decided that a flicker of blush was the next cosmetics item he'd apply. The counter makeup artist had explained that Nars 'Orgasm' was a very popular color with the young ladies, so he'd instantly coveted the golden, gleaming wash of color for his own cheeks. How he'd craved a custom makeover at the time, but he'd been too embarrassed to ask.

Jason dropped the blush brush with a clatter when his closet door suddenly burst open and two burly, dark haired men emerged with a murderous intent splashed over their grim faces. He made a futile motion to retrieve his revolver from the holster flung on his bed, but the larger of the two men grabbed him firmly by the back of the hair and led him over to a chair where he was seated with a harsh thud. "Uh-uh, girly-boy, dat's not allowed," the man gritted out as he waved his thick index finger back and forth in front of Jason's nose.

The other Mafia thug laughed out loud when he surveyed the contents of Jason's dresser drawer. "Mario! You outta see dis. I can't believe it. Girly-boy has a ton a makeup in here. It must be worth several grand." He picked up a handful of lipsticks and dropped them onto the floor. Jason made a forward leap to save his lipsticks as they rolled here and there on the carpeted floor with some disappearing under the bed. "Don't!" he exclaimed with a tinge of fear in his voice.

The burly thug smacked Jason across the face with the flat of his beefy palm, causing him to grunt aloud. "Shut up!" he growled. "We'll do da talkin' while you listen. Now, you and Corinthos have business dat we want, and we mean to obtain it, see?"   He adjusted his stance so that Jason could view the huge, wicked gun gleaming in the man's holster. "We can do dis with violence or with some finesse like gentlemen," the man intoned with a low, dangerous voice. "It don't matter to me. I'd just as soon blow your fucking head off den negotiate."

"What do you want?" Jason managed to sputter out.

"Your disappearance," the man replied evilly as a grin slashed across his pock-marked face. His beady brown eyes narrowed menacingly as he held Jason's stare.

The other thug joined his companion and pointed at Jason. "You leave the country and stay gone or you die. Which do ya want, girly-boy? I'll give ya ten seconds to decide after dat, it forfeits to a mob killing. It's up to you."

Jason swallowed hard, but the lump in his dry throat wouldn't budge. He looked back and forth from one man's gaze to the other's. It was obvious that they were serious. "Where would I have to go?"

The two men looked at one another and shrugged. "Did da boss specify?" the burly thug questioned.

"Nope. How 'bout Canada or Mexico? Da Bahamas?"

The burly thug laughed hard and shook his head. "Dose places don't appreciate da girly boys neither. We wouldn't want him to be misunderstood or nothin'." He stroked his chin as he thought. "Send 'em to France. Da Parisian types might have a place for 'em." He pounded Jason on the side of his arm in a mob goodwill gesture, and then harshly pulled him up from the chair. "Come on, sweets. You're goin' ta gay Par-ee."

"Can I pack a bag?" Jason asked in a child-like voice as his eyes darted to the dresser. The idea of relocating to Paris was simmering in his heart with a germ of expectancy. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

"One suitcase and one makeup bag," the other thug replied. He pounded Jason on the back with sympathy. "I know. Dat one carryon bag limit sucks dese days."

 Next chapter...