Fallen Angel - TOC

Chapter Sixty-Two

 A general murmur of alarm rose throughout the audience at the reading of Frank Smith's will as people half started in their seats and looked at each other with bewildered, anxious faces. The young man who had dragged the woman from the room was screaming at the top of his lungs, and two men in the front row suddenly leaped from their seats, racing in the direction of the commotion. It had all happened in the space of several seconds, which made it seem all that more confusing and chaotic. The attorney's jaw hung down, and his assistant peered around the television with a frightened look on his face.

When Luke and Johnny reached the alcove, Frankie was still screaming, "You BITCH!" at Cathy, who was flat on her back with a protective arm raised in front of her, and a broken stiletto heel lying beside her foot. A table was toppled over with chairs on their sides, and a pile of fine bone china scattered in sharp shards all around her. Frankie advanced toward Cathy with a deadly, intense expression on his face, coupled with a metal crutch raised high as a weapon and a blazing yet detached look in his wide eyes. He bared his teeth in a grimace and swung the crutch like a bat with a vicious accuracy, crushing the glass front of the china cabinet beside the woman. Cathy shrieked in terror and attempted to back away from Frankie, using her feet to frantically scoot along the wooden floor.

Johnny immediately assessed the situation and determined that Luke would be better with Frankie while he would take care of Cathy personally. Frankie suddenly dropped the crutch and leaped onto Cathy, flinging the full weight of his body on top of her as if he were tackling a quarterback, and gripping her throat tightly with his desperate hands. "I'll kill you!" he gritted out between his clenched teeth as he violently shook her head back and forth, causing her raven hair to fly in all directions while she futilely slapped at his forceful hands, unable to make a sound with her closed windpipe.

Luke rushed in to pull his son off of the woman, horrified at Frankie's actions and appearance. He forcefully dragged him away as Frankie loudly shouted "No!" dragging out the vowel sound into a tortured plea. Frankie viciously kicked at the floor, trying to get a hold to break away from his father, yet was only vaguely aware that someone was manhandling him.

Johnny pulled Cathy to safety and lifted her bruised, limp body from the floor as she held a trembling hand to her throat. She whipped her head around to face Frankie with her hair askew and bright lipstick smeared across her cheek. Her eyes flashed, and she pointed a red fingernail in his direction. "You're crazy! You're worse than Frank!" she shouted hoarsely. Johnny tightened his hand around her arm and forcefully escorted her from the alcove. "We're going to have a talk," he said in his low, deadly bodyguard's voice. "You and me."

Alexis had remained with Sly, but Laura and Stefan quickly walked into the alcove, shocked at Frankie's presentation. Luke could barely hold onto his small-framed teenaged son who was twisting and kicking out, trying to escape and chase after Cathy's departing back while hissing and making low noises in the back of his throat. Luke lost control of one of Frankie's arms, and the boy thrust out a tense hand in the direction of the devastated china. "No, no!" Luke ordered as his heart raced with the exertion of keeping his son under control. "Calm down! Stop this!" He shook the boy, but Frankie's face didn’t change from its hard, murderous expression even though the boy was sweating, pale and breathing heavily from his extreme exertion. His body whipped back and forth, causing a small tear in the shoulder seam of his Armani suit jacket. After minutes of struggling with Frankie, Luke felt the boy's muscles losing their tension as he melted into a puddle in his father's arms. Luke lowered him to the floor, and Frankie sat back against Luke with a slack mouth and a blank look in his staring eyes.

Luke still held onto Frankie's arms while Stefan knelt in front of him and tried to talk him back to awareness. "Frankie, it's Stefan," he said in a deep, calm voice. He lightly patted Frankie on the side of his face. "She's gone now, brephos." Stefan blinked in confusion at his instinctive use of the Greek childhood endearment for his own son. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Frankie. We want to talk to you. Won't you join us?" He squeezed the boy's hand, trying to make the physical contact work to their advantage. Stefan glanced up at Luke, and the two men silently communicated their mutual shock and concern.

Frankie made a noise and squirmed in Luke's arms as he became more physically aware and active. He blinked repeatedly as if trying to clear his vision. When his eyes roamed around the room and took in the general destruction as well as the adults surrounding him, he quickly turned toward Luke, gripping him in a tight, fearful hug. Luke's eyes filled with tears as he rubbed his son's back, offering him the only comfort that he had to give.

The lawyer's assistant suddenly stood in front of them and nervously cleared his throat. When he had the adults' attention, he whispered, "Mr. Jamieson would like to know if he should continue."

Laura's face showed her disapproval, and she said coldly, "Tell Mr. Jamieson to continue with his program, and we'll join him when we're ready."

The assistant nodded imperceptibly, and he trotted back to the podium to whisper the instructions to his boss.

Stefan rose from his kneeling position on the floor and pulled Laura into a hug.

"Dey're not here?" Frankie squeaked in a high voice. He was still turned toward Luke and hiding his face from the terrors that threatened him.

"Just your parents. Just us," Luke said reassuringly. He patted Frankie on the back and stood back up, pulling his son up with him. He turned Frankie around and showed him who was present in the alcove. "Frank's dead, and Johnny got rid of that whore," Luke said in the plain, vulgar language familiar to his son.

Frankie rubbed his forehead with the sleeve of his Armani and took in several gulping breaths. "I'm tired," he complained. He felt dizzy and his leg was tingling with shooting pains. He looked down at his fingernails, noting that several were torn back to the quick.

"Well, yeah," Luke laughed. "After starting and winning World War Three, I'd say so." He turned Frankie around to look him in the eye. "Do you feel in control of yourself now?"

Frankie was still breathing hard and darting his eyes around the room with a dazed expression on his face. "I think so," he said quietly, avoiding looking directly at his father.

"What happened?" Luke asked.

"I dunno," Frankie answered honestly. "Frank was dere, and I felt strange, and den dat Cathy bitch showed up. She started talking, and it gets fuzzy after dat."

"You throttled her, son," Luke said plainly.

Frankie's lips turned up into a grin. "Really?" he asked brightly. "Stupid bitch. She deserves it."

Laura flinched at her son's vulgar language and violent sentiment.

"We'll talk about the situation later, but for now, I want to know if you feel well enough to join the will reading."

"Um, okay," Frankie agreed. He took a step forward and groaned with pain, shrinking back against his father. "Oh man. I hurt," he said.

"No one to blame but yourself," Luke said with a sigh. "We'll help you back to your seat, won't we Stefan?"

Stefan nodded and lightly took one of Frankie's arms, while Luke took the other. They wisely left the metal crutch in the alcove to prevent future violent incidents and gently lead a limping, hopping Frankie from the room A thick, all encompassing silence descended on the crowd as Harry looked up to determine its cause. He quickly looked away from Frankie and resumed his monologue.

Alexis' eyes were filled with worry, and Sly sat beside her in shocked silence, grateful for her hand wrapped around his own. Frankie emitted a sound of pain when he was lowered to his seat, but he quickly recovered and sat up straight in his chair, eager to regain his former control and composure and get the show on the road.

~*~*~*~

Johnny had a death grip on Cathy's arm, and he pushed her forward so quickly that she stumbled to the side and was bodily dragged for several paces until she got her bearings.

"Hey!" she protested as she attempted to wrangle her arm away from him.

"Shut up and keep walking," Johnny stated in a deadly tone of voice that silenced her protests. He found a door to the outside and shoved her through it to the relative quiet and privacy of the Wyndemere gardens. When Cathy opened her mouth again, Johnny held up his index finger as a warning, and she reconsidered since she'd personally witnessed the man killing another mobster without remorse. Johnny wasn't a man to mess with when he had his mind set on a mission. When he'd found the ideal spot, Johnny threw her down onto a concrete bench and stood before her with his hands on his hips and his holster displaying its gleaming firepower.

"You're still working for that little brat?" Cathy scoffed as she glared at him.

"You've said enough."

"I haven't even started!"

Johnny walked behind Cathy and yanked her hair back with his clenched fist. "And now you're finished," he gritted out. Cathy's head was back as far as it would go, and her eyes widened with fear as she winced and squinted against the sun. Her one remaining stiletto heel dug against the ground, but the other foot with the broken shoe futilely slapped at the grass with a floppy sound. Her hands wrapped around Johnny's, but all she felt were his muscles tightening their grip. "Let me go," she said with less arrogance than her previous comment.

"First, you're going to listen to me and listen well," Johnny said in a low voice. "Then, I'm going to escort you back to your car, and you'll drive away."

"But..."

Johnny smacked his palm against her mouth, silencing any sounds she'd been tempted to make. He bent in closer and said quietly, "I stood by for years watching you torture that boy with your comments and games and your sick relationship with Frank. Frank's gone, missy. Now you're dealing with me. There's no reason for you to be here except to cause more trouble. Let me make it clear." Johnny released his hold on her and directed his steely gaze straight into her frightened eyes. "If I ever see you again, I'll kill you, plain and simple. I suggest you move far, far away just to avoid Frankie - and me. It would be better for you health." Johnny held her gaze, never wavering for a second.

Cathy backed away and sputtered, "But what about Frank's will?"

Johnny's mouth smiled, but its brightness never reached his eyes. "Oh. That's right. You worked awfully hard for that inheritance, didn't you? The rug burns on your back must be bothering you." He reached out and shoved her toward the walking path. "Let's go. They'll place the check in the mail. You don't need to be here to collect."

Cathy slowed down to make a comment, but Johnny pushed her harshly. "Keep walking."

She turned her head and said over her shoulder, "I was his favorite, you know."

"I know. That's why I hate you. And even more importantly, Frankie hates your guts. You'll have to go through me to get to him, and I doubt you want to chance that." Johnny pushed her again, and she almost flew flat on her face. "OKAY!" she screamed in rage. "I'm GOING!" She took off toward her car at a fast trot while Johnny stood with his arms crossed, watching her flee from his wrath.

"If you ever come near him again, I will kill you," he said grimly. "That's a promise."

~*~*~*~

Frankie's bad leg was held out in front of him at an odd angle, and even though he laid a heavy hand on it, the leg periodically trembled and made Frankie's chair move against Luke's. Luke had leaned toward his son several times, offering to assist him in leaving the proceedings, but Frankie had stubbornly shaken his head no each time his father asked him. Frankie's face was rigid as he absorbed Harry Jamieson's words, never showing an emotion or reaction. Frank had quite a few persons listed in his will, but none of them received extravagant amounts of money. When Harry finally mentioned descendants, Frankie leaned forward with his intense blue eyes watching every movement of the attorney. He nibbled on his lower lip, using his tongue to lick away a drop of blood that seeped from the broken skin.

"Frank Smith has sixteen descendants listed," Harry said nervously as his eyes swept through the audience. "None of them legitimate." A low murmur floated through the crowd as people commented on the situation. Frankie surreptitiously peeked over his shoulder to survey the persons seated behind him. No wonder he'd felt creepy. Mini Franks and Francesca's were staring his way. Most of the older women seated beside the "children" were faintly attractive, former showgirls and B movie actresses of the past three decades. Frank obviously hadn't been fond of using condoms in those pre-AIDS era days, and his predilection for a variety of women was evident in its natural result.

"Each descendant will receive the same amount of money," Harry explained. He looked embarrassed to read the amount. "Uh, twenty thousand dollars." The murmurs in the audience grew to a virtual roar. Apparently, Frank had promised differing sums based upon his whim at the time in lieu of bothersome child support. Some of the women had waited for years, and their sons or daughters were showing a few gray hairs themselves. "Those are the terms of the will." He cleared his throat and nervously glanced in Frankie's direction.

"Frank Smith, Junior, née Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior, inherits the bulk of the estate - the remaining cash, all properties, personal possessions and businesses owned by Frank Smith." 

Frankie turned pale as a sheet and gripped his hand over his nauseous stomach. What did Frank do? What kind of a sick message was he sending? Did he really love me?  Frankie wondered. His mind drifted to the most recent time he'd spent with Frank, and his then-father punching and kicking him and following up with a hug and a profession of love. Frankie's mind was reeling, and he let out a groan of confusion and emotional pain at the memories.

"This concludes the will," Harry hurriedly finished. "Please line up at the table to sign in, and be prepared to show proof of identity. The checks are cut and available for you to take with you." Voices were loudly complaining and griping throughout the room.

Frankie held his hand high in the air, and Harry looked at him quizzically.  "Wait," Frankie said with a decisive voice. He looked around for his crutches, but finding them missing, rose unsteadily to his feet and swayed. Luke stood up immediately and supported his son, helping him to move toward the podium. Frankie held his right hand over the mike and looked Harry directly in the eye. "Dis ain't fair. He didn't do right. Dese people deserve more. I wasn't his son," Frankie insisted. "Here's what you do. Take half of da cash he gave me, split it equally between da children. Ya got a calculator?"

Harry looked uncomfortable, and glanced at Luke. "This is highly irregular," he stated nervously. "Frank obviously intended for you to inherit the bulk of his estate."

"DO IT!" Frankie screamed at him. "You're my no-good fuckin' attorney. Do your job for once. Do as I say. And tell da people how much dey'll get."  

"But, Frankie, you were Frank's business partner. Of course, you..."

"I got da businesses..." Frankie said with a lethal tone and dead eyes "...legit and otherwise. It's fair."

Harry stacked some papers and motioned for his assistant. He whispered in the young man's ear as the assistant nodded.

Frankie's hand was sweating, and he felt it slip from the microphone. He leaned heavily against Luke and would have fallen flat on the floor if his father hadn't been there. "Frankie?" Luke questioned. Frankie shook his head.  "I gotta do dis," he whispered, although his mouth was hanging open and the room felt like it was moving.

After a few minutes, the assistant handed Harry a slip of paper. "Five million per person," he said tersely.

"Good, good," Frankie said softly. "Okay. Tell 'em."

Luke led Frankie back to his seat, concerned when his son started sliding off after he was seated. He pulled Frankie's head and shoulders onto his lap, hoping the kid would just relax - it was either that or lay him on the floor. Frankie didn't protest, and closed his eyes as his vision grew blurry and squiggly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, descendants of Frank Smith. Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior has consented to giving half of the cash portion of his inheritance to you, divided into equal portions, which are five million dollars per person."

A cheer rang through the auditorium as eyes lit up and mouths smiled for the first time since the proceeding began. People looked curiously at the boy who seemed to be in some distress. It was obvious from his looks that the boy belonged to the man holding his head in his lap. Some shrugged. Whatever. This was better than they'd expected, and who could question Frank's Smith's craziness?

"Laura?" Luke asked as he motioned for her to approach. "We need the wheelchair," he said firmly. "He's had it."

Laura laid her hand on Frankie's head, but he didn't respond. "I'll get it right away. The doctor is back on the estate, and I'll have him come to check on him."

~*~*~*~

Alexis approached Harry Jamieson, who allowed his assistant to take care of the persons lined up in front of the large, wooden table. He was polishing his eyeglasses when she approached him with Sly following closely behind her. "Mr. Jamieson," she said in a neutral tone as she held out her hand. Harry took hold of her hand, shaking it slightly with a puzzled expression on his face. "Alexis Davis, attorney at law," she said, introducing herself. She paused and said with a bit more venom, "And Frankie's stepmother." She stared him down and continued. "I'll be contacting the bar about your activities or lack therein regarding the minor child, Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior. As an officer of the court, you had the responsibility to report any criminal activity directed at my stepson, the first and most important crime, of course, being his kidnapping by your client. Someone had to falsify documents. I imagine it was you." When Harry opened his mouth to protest, she held up her hand. "Don't bother. Of course, if you were to disappear with the substantial wealth you made from your association with Frank Smith, all of this would be a moot point, wouldn't you agree?"

Harry's disbelieving eyes stared into Alexis' bright, angry ones.

"I am very stubborn," she informed him. "I suppose I could make this my mission in life - your disbarment. Yes, I do believe that is a worthy cause."

Harry slammed his briefcase shut and sputtered. "I was going to retire anyway."

"Florida has so many resources for the retiree," Alexis added brightly. "Who knows? You might even take up shuffleboard." She turned abruptly and left the man with an angry look splashed across his face.

"Go, Mom," Sly whispered to her as they walked away.

"You bet," she returned.

~*~*~*~

"Thank you for joining us," Stefan said as he rounded his desk and shook Johnny's hand.

"Uh. Sure," Johnny said with some hesitance as he sat down on an antique chair and looked startled by the huge horse portrait to his right. He glanced at Luke, who nodded at him.

Stefan leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. "We were discussing the incident during the will reading." When Johnny remained silent, Stefan motioned in his direction and raised his eyebrows. "You walked off with that...woman. Who was she and why was she there?"

Johnny relaxed and folded his hands over his crossed knee as this was a subject he was comfortable discussing. "Her name is Cathy Grigsby. She was...shall we say...Frank Smith's favorite." When Stefan looked at him blankly, Johnny sputtered. "Whore. Frank's whore. He'd set her up in an apartment near the estate, but she was often at the mansion - causing trouble mostly."

"I know that Frankie didn't like her. He'd mentioned it."

"Oh yeah? How could you tell?" Johnny replied sarcastically.

"What was the nature of her relationship with Frankie?" Stefan questioned.

"The broad lived to torment him - that's what. She interfered in Frankie's relationship with Frank whenever she could, causing fights, lying, that sort of nonsense."

"Hardly a justification for the display we witnessed this morning," Luke added dryly. "What else?"

Johnny shrugged. "I don't know anything specific, just that I didn't trust her around him. She seemed out to get him."

"Why would that be?" Stefan probed.

"I really don't know. Some people just live to be cruel, especially to kids. She was that type. A good match for Frank."

"Why was she here this morning?" Luke asked.

"Same as everyone else. She was out for the money. She was collecting her inheritance."

"What did you do with her after escorting her from the ballroom?" Stefan asked.

"Not as much as I wanted to," Johnny replied angrily. He shifted in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable as it felt like he was in an inquisition, and he was unsure of the two men's motives - except for the fact that they were all worried about Frankie. He sighed. "Okay. I roughed her up a bit and warned her to stay away from Frankie - to move far away, as a matter of fact."

Luke's face looked bored. "And?"

"I told her I'd kill her if I ever saw her again," Johnny said flatly. "I think she understands that I mean it."

Luke sighed massively as he made a face, and Stefan looked grim. "We'd hoped to question her," Stefan stated. "She may hold the key to some of the boy's problems."

"That's the point!" Johnny said abruptly as he jumped from his chair and walked away from the men. "She's no good. Frank was no good. Now they're both out of his life and maybe he can heal in peace."

"He's not going to be at peace if the past keeps tormenting him in his mind," Luke explained.

"He has doctors and friends and family."

"Who are trying to get to the bottom of all this," Stefan inserted.

"Right," Johnny answered. "I did what I thought best. I'm sorry if I ran afoul of your plans."

Luke waved away Johnny's apology. "Don't sweat it. I just think we should try to coordinate our activities. She probably wouldn't have answered our questions anyway." Oh crud. I'm starting to sound like Stefan. I'm spending too much time at Wyndemere. Luke's eyes rolled around the room. Laura must have struck in this office. What a hoot.

~*~*~*~

"Frankie, why don't you close your computer and lie down for a nap? It's obvious that you're exhausted." Laura stood beside Frankie with a hand on her maternal hip. Frankie was sitting in his wheelchair by a window, more propped than sitting as he leaned against the wall for support. His fingers rapidly ran over the keyboard, and the machine periodically clicked and beeped in response. He was trying his best to ignore his mother and go about his job of finding Nikolas, but Mama's voice kept interrupting his concentration. "Aha," he said aloud when some interesting information rolled down his screen. He rubbed his chin as he thoughtfully considered his latest advance toward discovering his brother's location.

Laura stood there with an annoyed expression on her face. First Stefan, then Nikolas, and now Frankie ignored her. What was it with the men in this family? "Dr. Hill said he'd be here in ten minutes," she informed him.

Frankie's eyes rolled in her direction. "I'm not sick," he informed her.

"We'll let the doctor decide that," Laura countered. She'd been struggling with him since they'd wheeled him back to the guest room. He'd wanted to remain dressed in his Armani suit, insisting that it gave him the edge that would enable him to find his brother. Laura had brought out a sweatsuit and pulled off his suit jacket, hanging it neatly on a hanger. She'd won the argument that time, but Frankie had ignored her after giving in and changing his clothes.

Frankie's eyes fluttered shut with his head leaning against the wall, and his hand fell down onto the keyboard, causing it to beep in protest. He blearily opened his eyes and scowled at the sound of his mother's voice.

"See?" Laura pointed out. "You're falling asleep in your chair."

"So what?" Frankie shot back.

"So, you need your rest. You've had a very busy day."

Frankie mumbled curses under his breath, but no words were audible. It seemed like his mother could say nothing today that wouldn't annoy him. Why was he feeling so crabby? "I got some information I want to share with Stefan," he said as he darted his eyes in Laura's direction.

"Honey, Stefan is in meetings this afternoon, but you might send him an email."

Frankie sighed and nodded. He opened his email and pasted a hyperlink into his message. "I'm workin ' on finding Nikolas," he stated. "I have some leads." His mother looked worried and drawn, and a guilty feeling wormed its way through his body as he knew he was responsible for Nikolas' disappearance. He moved in his chair to adjust the pressure on his hip, but nothing worked to relieve the constant, dull pain that threatened to leave the region and flood his body with its deadly fire. He grimaced and lifted his nerve damaged leg onto the footrest. He leaned his head back and breathed heavily.

"That's it!" Laura announced. She removed the laptop from her son and gently closed its lid. "I want you in bed." She pulled Frankie from the chair and assisted him onto the bed. She actually was worried because he didn't protest and merely lay down and closed his eyes.

~*~*~*~

"Okay, Mr. Spencer, convince me why I shouldn't admit you to the hospital." Dr. Hill rolled up the blood pressure cuff and placed it in his bag.

Frankie's half-opened eyes stared at him, and he frowned in protest. "Hey," he said. "I'm not sick."

"When's the last time you ate or drank?"

"I dunno. Breakfast? I had pancakes and coffee."

"Wrong answer," Dr. Hill replied firmly. He glanced at his watch. "It's 4PM."

"So?"

"So, your blood pressure and pulse are high, you're in significant pain, and you're still bleeding from where I took a blood sample five minutes ago." Dr. Hill removed the cotton ball from Frankie's inner elbow and shook his head, replacing the red, saturated ball with a fresh one and pushing Frankie's arm toward his body to apply pressure. "You've received significant injuries, and you almost died, young man."

Frankie rolled his eyes at the young man comment.

"Don’t give me any attitude," Dr. Hill continued. "You're not giving your body a chance to heal if you insist on exhausting yourself and refuse to give it the nutrition it needs. Since you've been out of the hospital, you've had a concussion, a drug overdose, and serious bruising from gunshot wounds."

"Dat's my life," Frankie explained.

"That's no life," Dr. Hill replied. "You're looking at death before age twenty-one," he said in an attempt to knock some sense into the boy.  

"I don't figure on growing old. I'm not gonna live past thirty."

"Says who? Where are you getting this information?

"Dat's what Frank said. He said it was my destiny. I'm a child prodigy, and dey don't live long. Like Mozart or Alexander da Great. So, I don't worry about it."

Dr. Hill shook his head. "Nice to know you have a good self esteem," he commented in reference to Frankie's assertion that he was a peer of the greats in history. "It's my job to keep you alive, and if you don't shape up, that means going back to the hospital."

"No," Frankie answered petulantly. "Not goin'."

"Compromise with me. You eat dinner at 8PM, right?"

"Eight PM sharp - it's Stefan's house."

"Okay. Stay in bed and rest - no computer, just sleep - for the next four hours. Drink a whole 16 ounce bottle of water before and after, and eat a good dinner. Are you willing to do that?"

"I hate water," Frankie whined. He fidgeted on the bed, but then grinned broadly. "If you gimme a six pack, it'll go right down da hatch."

"You severely damaged your kidney and bruised it some more when you were shot recently," the doctor stated. "You need loads of water, and you should be voiding frequently."

"Gross," Frankie said with a screwed up face. "Dat's gross."

"Tell me why you're being such a pain," Dr. Hill asked.

"I dunno. I just wanna be left alone. Everybody's hemming me in. Other dan Frank, nobody used to tell me what to do. I want my freedom."

"Let's look at this from the standpoint of your freedom then. How free are you if you're confined to a wheelchair? I guarantee you won't heal that injury by repeatedly abusing the leg. If you're whole and healthy, then you'll be able to move about and have more energy for your life. Right now, you're confined to your home and dependent on other people. That's probably what's bothering you the most. But if you cooperate, then you'll heal much quicker. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Maybe," Frankie said so that he wouldn't have to concede by saying yes.

"Will you listen to me?" Jerry asked seriously. "If you won't then a hospital is the best place for you with their ability to continually monitor you. However, I think you'd prefer staying at home to recuperate. What do you say?"

Frankie grumbled and mumbled under his breath as he held his hand over his eyes. He sighed dramatically and said, "Okay," in a small voice.

"I'll be back with your water."

"Beer, beer, my kingdom for a beer," Frankie sang out loudly after the doctor left his room

.Next chapter...