Chapter Seventy-Two

Frankie opened his locker door and cautiously looked around him to ensure no one was nearby. Sly had dropped off his books on the floor as Frankie said he'd be along in a minute, no need to wait for him, just tell the girls to save his seat at the lunch table. The crowds in the hallways thinned out considerably after the bell rang, and Frankie dropped his books one by one on the floor of his locker. They slipped out of his fingers like leaves falling off a tree, and he stared down at them as each thudded solidly with their collective weight of knowledge. He felt like the books, loaded down with heaviness, the result of knowing too much. School was a joke. He'd already memorized the bulk of what the public schools offered and had experienced life in ways most students would never know - great was their fortune at being ignorant of unspeakable things lurking in dark alleyways and slithering behind closed doors of mansions.

Frankie surreptitiously reached far into the back of the locker, behind the cover of notebooks, until he felt the cylinders brush his fingertips. One was small and plastic with a lid on top, while the other felt metallic and sloshed when he pulled it towards him. Anxiety built within him as it had all morning. He was glad he'd hidden these items for emergency purposes as this day seemed to qualify. He couldn't remember much since last night when the cops had walked into the living room of his father's house. Everything after that had disappeared like wisps of clouds into thin air. He desperately wanted to hide that fact; however; the tension continued to build within his body until he thought he'd literally burst and spill his guts on the floor. His life was spinning out of control, and he felt powerless to stop it. Feeling powerless was a surefire way to spark his anger, and his eyes narrowed with furor as he popped the top of the can of beer and downed half of its contents in a few seconds. He reached for his bottle of pain pills and took two, swallowing them with the remaining contents of the can. He threw the bottle and empty can back into the locker, slammed the door shut, and then kicked it. He was glad he'd found a new source for his booze. Two nights ago, he'd sneaked out of the house in search of an all-night liquor store.

*** Frankie's fingers lifted the keys to the SUV and twirled them around his index finger. His eyes directed to the kitchen clock, which read two in the morning. The SUV had been parked on the street, and Frankie figured no one would hear it being started at this late hour.

When he lifted himself up into the vehicle, he snickered. Driving this would be a trip - his feet barely reached the gas pedal, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. He was a man on a mission and would not be deterred from his purpose.

He'd seen several liquor stores near the mall, and that was only about ten miles away. Maybe he'd get lucky. Frankie patted his pocket, searching for the fat wallet of Frank Smith and smiling broadly when he felt its outline. Frank's cash would come in handy. . His mind didn't allow him to accept the irony of using Frank's cash to purchase the alcohol that had numbed his feelings of hurt and rage when living in the terror of the man's house. It wasn't abusing himself, just giving him the boost he needed to get through his days and nights. Man, he was really looking forward to a beer. How long had it been since he'd been forced from Frank's mansion? Weeks? Months?

Frankie's mind briefly wondered if Luke or Alexis regularly checked the mileage on this vehicle. He shook his head in denial. Who would notice if there were an extra twenty miles on the speedometer anyway? It could be easily explained away as the bad memory of approaching old age. Frankie's tongue stuck out slightly as he maneuvered the large SUV, and he frowned with concentration. He was especially careful to drive the speed limit since he didn’t want to be stopped by his friends in blue, not that he'd surrender if it came to that. He had a pistol with him, and Luke knew nothing about his secret stash of firearms. Frankie could replace them as easily as they were confiscated.

Frankie laughed out loud when he saw the neon sign that read, "Open 24 Hours." He pulled into the parking lot and hopped out of the SUV, using one crutch as a makeshift cane and looking more eighty than fifteen with his halting, pained walk. He limped right up to the counter and impatiently drummed his fingers on the hard surface as he waited for the cashier to turn around and notice him.

The cashier, a grizzly-looking man in his fifties with balding, longish gray hair, snorted when he saw Frankie. "Shouldn't you be home in bed, chipmunk?"

"What's your price?" Frankie asked disinterestedly. He leaned against the countertop and stared the man straight in the eyes. "I'm gonna bribe you to sell me beer on a weekly basis, and you're gonna tell me your price, old man."

The cashier pulled a sour expression on his lined face. "Says who? I could pick up this phone and call the cops."

"Says my deceased old man and all da connections I inherited," Frankie shot back as he spread Frank's wallet to show him Frank's driver's license. He paused to further open the wallet and reveal the abundant cash.

Frank's face had been splashed on the television news screen for months, and his driver's license photo made a big impression on the unintelligent old alcoholic. "Whaddaya want?" he gritted out as his watery blue eyes fixed on the kid in front of him. His nerves were shot just thinking of the implications of displeasing this commanding young man. The mob didn't hesitate to kill when annoyed, and Frankie was looking impatient.

"You'll deliver two cases of beer to my vehicle on a weekly basis. I will call when I'm comin' - on a Tuesday or Wednesday, between 2AM and 3AM. I'll be parked in da alley - no video cameras, see? And if you think of calling da cops, I'll kill ya. It's dat simple." Frankie patted his pocket, and the man could see the outline of a pistol.

The man gulped and said, "It'll cost you $50 for the beer and my cooperation."

"Fine," Frankie agreed. "Do as I say." He raised his eyebrow for emphasis, and his face took on a dark, malicious aspect. "I'll pull in da alley now. Load it up." ***

Frankie had hidden his booze stash in a cool stream in the woods behind the house, covering it up with a few overlying branches. He had cool beer at his disposal whenever he took a stroll from the house, and he also planned to keep a few extra in his room. No matter if it was warm. Beer was beer.

Frankie leaned against his locker and sighed as he felt the high invading his bloodstream. His eyes took on a glazed, nonfocused aspect, and he didn't see them approaching when he let his eyelids close.

"There he is," a deep, angry voice sounded.

Before Frankie could open his eyes, he was turned around and smashed face first into his locker. Someone had his arm twisted behind his back and pushed violently into his small frame.

"Hey!" Frankie sputtered out as he jerked his arm and tried to release himself.

"You're the little shit who screwed things up."

Frankie was released, and he carefully turned himself around to view his tormentors. Several inches away from his face, another kid's eyes bore into his. It was one of the bullies from the gym class.

"You ruined a good thing we had going," the other kid sneered.

"Yeah, and we want to know how you're going to pay for it," the first bully said as he reached out and pushed Frankie's chest. When Frankie looked down, he was surprised by a right cross to his jaw and promptly spilled onto the floor with his arms and legs askew. His eyes blinked tiredly as he tried to figure out what was going on.

"Look at him," the one boy laughed. "He's high as a kite."

The bully pulled him up and looked up and down the hall to make sure they weren't being observed. His fist held onto Frankie's shirt and shook him roughly. "I hate you," he said simply. "That's reason enough to kick your ass." He banged Frankie back against the lockers and hit him again on his left cheek, leaving the red imprint of his knuckles on the boy's face. The bully frowned in confusion as Frankie didn't make a noise and seemed to take the beating without protest. "What's your problem?" he said disgustedly as he pushed Frankie again.

Frankie's eyes weren't focused on the kid in front of him but off in the distance. He didn't seem to be paying attention to the situation and was frustrating the bullies, who wanted him to create a drama by talking back or crying or throwing a punch himself. They violently pushed Frankie to the floor and laughed as they gave each other a high five and sauntered off.

Frankie lay on the cold, hard floor for a moment, but soon his bad leg drew attention to itself, and he struggled to a standing position, grabbing his crutches and hobbling off to the lunchroom. He didn't feel much of anything, mainly the persistent buzz in his brain and blood. He'd shut down out of defense when he'd been pummeled and didn't think it was a big deal. This wasn't any different than any other day. Worse had happened to him at Frank's mansion. What was this in comparison? Child's play?

~*~*~*~

Sly was standing at the entrance to the lunchroom, tapping his toe with impatience. He rushed up to his brother when he saw him rounding the corner. "Frankie? Where've you been? All of us are waiting for you at the table."

Frankie shrugged without comment. His hair was in disarray, and he didn't seem to notice.

"What happened to you?" Sly probed worriedly. "You look funny."

"Thanks," Frankie answered sarcastically.

"Did someone hit you? There are red marks on your face."

"Whatever," Frankie answered as he continued to ignore Sly. He chewed slowly on the piece of gum that was disguising his beer drinking indiscretion. He bent over to give Maxie a perfunctory kiss on her cheek and then slid into his seat at the lunch table, sighing as he deposited his crutches beside his chair.

"So Alexis invited us all to dinner tomorrow night," Emily said excitedly. "Your parents are so much fun to go out with, Sly. They're not boring like a lot of older people are."

Sly laughed and took Emily's hand, holding it and giving her an affectionate squeeze.

"You're invited, too," Frankie said unemotionally as he directed his attention to Maxie. "I don't know if you can come or not."

Maxie was taken aback by Frankie's seeming lack of interest in the question at hand. It was as if he didn't care one way or another. This wasn't the Frankie she was used to, the boy who was excited about everything and passionate when he was near her.

"I'm working on my mom," she answered. "Are you sure you want me to come?" she asked in a hurt tone.

Frankie glanced at her and smiled without it reaching his eyes, which were sad and confused. "Sure."

Maxie stroked her fingertips over Frankie's cheek. "Your face is puffy like you ran into something. Does it hurt? What happened?"

Frankie moved away from her and stood up so quickly that his chair fell backwards on the floor with a metallic bang. He grabbed a crutch and limped away to the lunch line, ignoring his dining companions as he turned his face away from them.

"What did I say?" Maxie whispered as the tears filled her eyes. Emily looked over at her and gave her friend a sympathetic smile. Sure, Frankie was cute, and Emily had admired his delectable tush, but she preferred Sly's good nature and dependability. Maxie had a lot to deal with.

"It's okay," Sly answered reassuringly. "Frankie's been in a mood. It had nothing to do with you." Sly's mind took him back to the drama of the morning, and he hoped Frankie wasn't going to revert to his previous behavior. There was no way to explain it away if that occurred. A bad mood was understandable but a completely different personality wasn't. Mom, Dad, help! Sly thought with panic.

When Frankie returned to the table, the other kids were finished with their food, and he felt conspicuous eating in front of them. He kept his head down and looked up occasionally to make sure no one was staring at him. His hand shook slightly when he raised his fork to his mouth, and it angered him. He needed another drink. How was he going to get one? All of his booze was back home in the creek.

"I remember when you first came to school," Sly said with nostalgia. "You used to watch my every move. You wouldn't take a bite until I did. It made me nervous."

Frankie's stomach clenched at the memories of why he'd acted that way. He laid down his fork and fingered his napkin. He looked at his brother with dead eyes. "I've seen people die from eating food. Dey ate and den dey keeled over dead. You were my taste tester. Happy now?"

Silence descended around the table as Sly, Emily and Maxie took turns feeling shocked, scared and saddened. Frankie laid his hand beside his tray, and all of their eyes were transfixed by his huge, gold signet ring with the letters FS emblazoned over it.

~*~*~*~

"Stefan? Good. You're there." Laura balanced her cell phone between her ear and shoulder as she folded baby clothes.

"Laura. What a nice surprise."

Laura laughed and teased her husband. "You always say that. I can't imagine it's always a surprise."

"I love your voice," Stefan said plainly. "It's what first captured my attention when we met."

Laura shook her head and smiled. "Oh. It wasn't the long, blond hair?"

"It was only an accompaniment to the melody of your voice."

"Whew," Laura breathed out. "How long will it be until you come home? I don't know if I can wait. I'm feeling a bit warm." She giggled and waved her hand in front of herself.

"I don't want to wait," Stefan purred, enjoying the repartee with his wife and looking forward to her comforts later that evening.

Laura's face took on a serious expression. "Is there any progress in finding our son?" Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the tears approaching. "I miss him, Stefan. I want my boy back home."

Stefan shuffled papers on his desk as he thought of the words to choose. "He's been spotted in Paris, but he has left the city."

"Frankie is searching for him?"

"Yes. He is most excellent - superior to any of our private detectives. Your son is quite gifted, Laura."

"Will you call him tonight and ask if he has any new information?"

"You want me to encourage him to work harder?" Stefan teased.

Laura sighed and leaned against the baby dresser. "I'm desperate. I know I shouldn't push him."

"I will phone him and see what he has. He is always pleased to report his progress."

"You're good with him, Stefan. I can't tell you how grateful I am for your interest in Frankie. He looks up to you as a father figure."

"And I enjoy him as if he were my own son."

"That's what I mean Stefan. I love you so much."

"And I you."

Laura smiled as she turned off her phone. She looked around the wonderfully decorated nursery, and at her beautiful, slumbering baby, and reflected how lucky she was to be married to the man who fulfilled her every dream. The only thing missing was the company of her two sons. Frankie would be back the next weekend, and hopefully they'd have Nikolas back home again, too.

~*~*~*~

Nikolas kissed Athena long and passionately, and then looked deeply into her eyes. "This trip is ending too soon. How about eternity with me?"

Athena leaned in to him and laid her head against his chest. She intertwined her fingers with his and squeezed. "I love you," she said simply. "And that's for an eternity."

Nikolas looked down at his girlfriend and smiled. "We've been spending a lot of time alone the last few days. How about one more night on the town? We'll do it right. I saw a nice, gaudy casino two blocks away. We can dress ourselves up all fancy and party until we're blind."

"What kind of an expression is that?" Athena teased him as she patted him on the chest. She tiptoed up and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I thought we were having ourselves a nice private party."

Nikolas laughed and twirled Athena around as if they were dancing at an elegant ball. "One evening out. That's what I want."

Athena bowed. "And you shall have it."

Nikolas ran his hands over her hips and sighed dramatically. "Put on that red dress. It drove me crazy watching you model it in Paris."

Athena smiled coyly. "It will look even nicer here in Monte Carlo. Are you wearing your tux?"

"Of course, cherie."

Athena blew him a kiss and disappeared into the posh hotel room's walk-in closet.

~*~*~*~

"You don't seem like your usual happy self," Luke commented as he accompanied his son back to the truck from their appointment at Ivy Hills.

"I'm never happy," Frankie replied truthfully.

Luke wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulder and squeezed. There wasn't much to say to that. It's true that his son was grappling with some huge problems. "It was a figure of speech." Luke had noticed that Frankie's jaw had a bruise on it and that his cheek was red and puffy over the cheekbone. He wondered what had happened that morning, but his son wasn't offering any information, and he didn't want to push him. Luke was feeling between a rock and a hard place after his discussion with Frankie's psychiatrist who had strongly recommended more stability in the boy's life. What power did he have over the PCPD? He'd tried everything possible to bring normality into Frankie's home life - they all had, including Sly and Alexis. His son wasn't going to make steady progress unless the stress levels went down, but Frankie seemed to naturally attract stressful situations. The police be damned, but Luke was seriously considering renting a log cabin somewhere in the west - far away from New York and the rest of civilization. A whole summer without the threats of death or arrest would work wonders for his son.

"You can drive the truck if you have your learner's permit handy," Luke said encouragingly. He knew how much Frankie loved to drive, and perhaps a spin on the road would lift his spirits.

"Okay," Frankie said neutrally. "I got da permit with me." He held his hand out for Luke's keys.

Luke frowned as he'd expected more joy to emit from his son, but of course he didn't know about Frankie "borrowing" his SUV the other night. "Let's drive to my landscaping business. I need to drop off some shrubs to the work crew. They need four more than they planned for."

Frankie hopped into the driver's seat while Luke laid his crutches in the back. "Hope those don't roll around too much," he commented. "Hey, you know how to drive stick, don't you? I forgot to ask."

"I can drive anything," Frankie answered confidently. He was bouncing in the seat, excited at last about something. "I love to drive."

"I can tell," Luke joked.

Frankie expertly pulled the truck out of the parking space and headed for the road.

"Good handling," Luke complimented him.

"Thanks!" Frankie beamed.

"Do you like trucks?" Luke asked conversationally.

"Not 'specially. Dey're kinda grim, not fancy. I like da sports cars or my BMW. Speed is what I like. Speed and handling."

"Turn right here," Luke instructed with a pointed finger. "It's only four miles straight down this road. On your left. I'll point it out when we're closer."

Frankie cast an admiring glance at his father. "You're a good businessman," he complimented him. "I noticed."

Luke's face broke into a big smile. "You did, huh? That's high praise from you."

"Yes."

Luke laced his fingers behind his head, and he relaxed. "The landscaping business is hot. I didn't realize Port Charles was underserved. I can barely hire enough workers to fulfill the business."

"Dat's a good problem to have," Frankie observed. "It's bad when dey're sitting dere lookin' at ya like, 'Gimme some bucks, gimme somethin' ta do.'"

"Been there?" Luke asked.

"Da men would get restless sometimes. A lot of dem liked ta fight. If we weren't breakin' heads at da moment, dey would start fightin' each other. Got bloody, messy. Frank didn't like messes. Cleanup was my job at dose times."

"What did you do?"

"I was da enforcer, so I'd find something to enforce, ya know? Make it up if I had to. Heads were for breaking. If you were in da biz, den ya had to expect trouble. I'd sic 'em on da bitty partners dat got greedy, stuff like dat."

"Were you in a fight this morning?"

Frankie's fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and his foot pressed harder on the gas pedal. "Nothing happened," he lied with casual ease. It was a familiar comment from his days with Frank. Nothing ever happened. Not really. People looked the other way. That's the way it was. He was used to getting roughed up, expected it really, but he'd have to buy some makeup if people kept bugging him about it. If the bullies bothered him again, he'd take it for awhile then kill them later when he wasn't so preoccupied in his mind. It was simple, not like they were Frank. He could take care of himself.

"Oh." Luke wasn't familiar with the logic of the abused, and he expected Frankie to run to him immediately if there were a problem at school. That's what Sly would do. "Turn here," he said quickly.

Frankie parked the truck and handed the keys to Luke. "There," he said. He crossed his arms and stared straight ahead. It was obvious he didn't intend to talk, and Luke sensed the sudden chill, so different than their near camaraderie a moment before.

~*~*~*~

Nikolas and Athena entered the grand casino and oohed and ahhed at the gorgeous excess of the place, a palace designed to delight and entertain - as well as deprive its patrons of their savings.

"This place is crazy," Nikolas said appreciatively. "I can't believe the decorating. It's like you're in a different time and place with each room. The Egyptian room was exquisite. I loved the hieroglyphics."

"I liked the Roman casino room," Athena commented.

"You just liked those gladiator waiters with the short skirts. They all looked like Russell Crowe."

Athena stuck her tongue out at him, and Nikolas pinched her on the waist. Neither noticed the perpetual video cameras that accompanied all casinos, and neither had noticed the small plaque in the doorway of the casino identifying it as a subsidiary of Smith Enterprises. Within ten minutes of their arrival, the casino manager was on his computer sending an email all the way to the US, Port Charles to be specific.

~*~*~*~

Sonny dropped his car keys onto the small, laminate table in his kitchenette. He also laid a plastic bag full of recent purchases from the local home hardware superstore. He scratched his loose curls and sat down on a chair across from the bag that he fingered thoughtfully. He rubbed his hand over his chin, feeling the three days of beard growth sprouting from his chin, lips and cheek. He'd been surprised how attractive he was in a beard. Even that flirty guy at the makeup counter had remarked on how marvelously it accented his eyes and facial bone structure.

*** "Can I have some service?" Sonny asked impatiently as he slapped his hand onto the glass cosmetics counter.

Elton turned away from his hand mirror, and his big blue eyes looked up and down at the man who had spoken to him. He relaxed and slid closer to the gentlemen. "Mr. Corinthos? Is that you?" He nodded with satisfaction. "Definite improvement. I love the casual, edgy sex waiting to happen look. That baby beard is divine."

Sonny blushed with pleasure and embarrassment. He agreed with Elton. He liked the beard, too.

"What can I do for you?" Elton asked with his double entendre voice and bedroom eyes.

"I want to purchase a gift," Sonny said gruffly, his eyes darting around him to ensure no one nearby was listening.

"For that delicious mancub of yours?" Elton asked brightly.

Sonny cleared his throat and tightened his lips. "It's for Jason, yes."

Elton retrieved his card file and perused his notes on Mr. Morgan. "He favors some sparkle and color. I have a gift package that will blow his socks off."

"Okay," Sonny said quietly. His stomach clenched nervously at the thought of Jason receiving the gift from him. He saw it as keeping the door open, whatever that door was, for after he killed Smith Junior. He had options. That and revenge would keep him on track. He wasn't as alone as it seemed. ***

Sonny unfolded the notes he'd printed off of the Internet during his visit to the public library that morning. No matter how many times he read them, he still felt like he was missing something. He'd purchased all of the items on the list, but how would he assemble them? He wished, not for the first time in his life, that he'd paid more attention in high school. And had he ever taken chemistry? He couldn't remember.

Sonny yelled out loud when his foot reminded him that it had lost a toe the day before. He was wearing wide sneakers and a huge amount of cotton and gauze stuffed over the area that had formerly contained a small toe. If he walked on his heel, it didn’t kill him with each step, but it regularly throbbed and bled. Sonny hadn't gone to a doctor or hospital after he'd shot off his toe. He didn't want to attract attention, especially from the police.

"Building Your Own Pipe Bomb" - that was the title splashed on top of the page. Sonny's forefinger traced each line as he carefully reread the printed material. He removed a pair of pliers, wire and gunpowder from the plastic bag. His lips moved as he tried to read the big words. Hopefully this would work because he wanted Smith Junior dead as soon as possible. Paris awaited him like a prize at the end of his labors.

~*~*~*~

Frankie sat on top of his bed, ignoring his brand new desk unit in favor of the comforts of the soft, giving surface. His bedspread was scrunched up around him, and a litter of small, wadded bits of paper spread out like a corona from his bent over body. His fingers flew over the keyboard of his laptop, pausing periodically as he reviewed retrieved information. He plucked at his lips, considering various strategies based upon the data. Frankie was in his element when he was analyzing and concentrating, his mind working smoothly like a finely tuned engine provided with all the oil it needed to race along.

The rest of Frankie's room was as disorderly as his bed. Clothing from days past was strewn over the floor, chair and doorknobs. He'd never learned to pick up after himself as servants had formerly taken care of that task daily. Dirty clothing disappeared and then reappeared hours later, cleaned, folded or hung on hangers, always in the system that Frankie knew. All he had to do was open a closet and reach for a pair of pants that were in the same exact place each time. With the drama of settling into his new home, Frankie had neglected to hire a personal servant to attend to his needs. Even though the Spencers protested the use of hired help, Frankie saw them as being as essential to him as air, water and a clean brush or underwear. His energy should be reserved for higher level functions, and his brain should not be distracted.

Luke and Alexis had been generous with allowing Frankie to take an occasional snack or sandwich into his room while he was studying. They certainly wanted to fatten him up and let him eat as often as he needed to grow. Frankie was still barely five feet four inches tall, and his weight hadn't increased beyond one hundred pounds, a small stature for a boy his age. However, Frankie hadn't been as neat in his habits as he had promised. Candy wrappers littered the carpeted floor like confetti, and he'd missed the wastepaper basket when throwing away used sub sandwich wrappers. Occasionally, he made a half hearted attempt to aim a wad of paper in the general direction of the can, but most ended up spotted here and there near the doorway. He merely walked over them when coming and going from the room. So far, he'd been fastidious in keeping Boris' the turtle's condo neat and clean, but it was anyone's guess how long that would last.

As Frankie was concentrating on typing up an email message, he heard the receipt of a piece of mail in his inbox. Surprised, he quickly clicked on it, not recognizing the address. A small smile started at his lips when he saw who it was from. The smile grew wider until it dominated his face.

"Gotcha!" he said harshly with a wave of his fist. Winning was the best feeling in the world, a feeling of pride and accomplishment. He'd received the email from his casino in Monaco. Nikolas and Athena were enjoying the tables on his property. It was too good. He immediately picked up his cell phone and dialed the manager's number.

"Good work," Frankie said in greeting.

"It was not difficult to recognize them from the photos that you'd distributed," the man answered back.

"Still, that was good work," Frankie complimented him. "I'm relieved we found 'em. Put a tail on 'em when they leave the casino. I don't want them to get away."

"As you wish," the manager's smooth voice agreed. "I'll place my best men on the case."

Frankie hung up the phone and rubbed his hands together in glee. Stefan would be very pleased, and he was excited that he hadn't lost his touch. No one could outsmart him for long. Rapidly dialing Stefan's private number on his cell phone, Frankie hopped up from his bed and swayed a little, caught off guard with his balance. His hand shot out and grabbed onto the adjoining nightstand as he blinked in confusion. It was way past time for his medications, but he'd failed to notice while embroiled in "the hunt."

"Hello?" Stefan's guarded voice sounded. He didn't bother with formal greetings as this was his personal line. The person calling was most likely either Frankie or Nikolas, both of whom were welcome.

"Stefan? It's Frankie." Frankie's face shone with happiness. "I found him," he said in a hushed voice, as if he could scarcely believe it himself.

Stefan was in the master bedroom and sat down carefully on the bed, stunned and pleased at the same time. "Where is he?"

"Monaco. He's in my casino! I got my men on 'em. Dey're gonna tail him wherever he goes from here."

Stefan looked at his wristwatch. "The Cassadine jet is at the airport. I'm on my way. I cannot thank you enough, son. I'm so proud of you. Your mother will be ecstatic."

Frankie passed his hand over his hair, almost as if primping in response to Stefan's approval. "I know," he said softly. "I want Mama to be happy."

"Frankie, I'll contact you when I arrive in Monaco."

"Okay. Good. Break a leg."

"That I will, young man."

Frankie looked at the phone in his hand after turning it off. Things were working out. Stefan was happy. Mama was happy. Frankie looked back to his laptop and decided to send Maxie an email. He ran his fingers over the keyboard, whistling to himself. Why was it he always thought about Maxie and sex at the same time? He knew he was in the mood for a victory dance, but it wasn't much fun dancing by himself. He preferred a partner. Maxie was the best. His heart warmed when he thought of her, and he'd shared a lot of his thoughts and feelings with the pretty girl. But, he couldn't share all he wanted and felt frustrated and stymied. What was he supposed to do? Stay in the house all the time and watch game shows with the family? He'd die of boredom.

Hey Maxie!

I found Nikolas. He was in a casino in Monaco. His father is going to pick him up. I guess he'll be back in school soon.

Did you ask if you could go to dinner with us tomorrow night? My dad wants to pick people up at 6PM. My stepmother said she could call your mom if that would help. I know I was a drag in school today. I'm sorry. Sometimes I'm moody. It doesn't mean I don't want to be with you. I can't help it sometimes.

I can't wait until we can go to the movies again. I still have my BMW. It's at my stepfather's house in the garage. They didn't take it away like they were going to.

Can we find someplace private to talk tomorrow at school? Maybe we can finish lunch early and then go outside.

Okay, well, goodbye.

I love you.

Frankie

Frankie noticed it was becoming easier to tell his girlfriend he loved her. The first time was hell, but now he liked doing it. He wondered if he'd be able to say those things to his family some day. They seemed more threatening to him, like they'd throw it back in his face if he said it. Somewhere in his mind he realized he might have said it to Luke, but he didn’t directly remember doing it. Frankie looked up from the laptop, and his eyes darted toward the door. Someone was knocking.

"Yeah," he called out disinterestedly. He casually moved his foot to kick an empty beer can under his bedspread. He had most of the case left over, waiting in the woods, and didn't intend to have it confiscated.

Luke poked his head in the door. "Do you want to join the rest of us in the family room? There's a real nice movie coming on - a comedy. I know you enjoy those."

Frankie felt hesitation in his bones as he stared at his father. Bad things seemed to happen when he let his guard down. The last time he'd relaxed and laughed the cops had come calling. He shivered with the memory and placed his hands on either arm as the nausea built up in his stomach. He blinked several times and then said, "No."

Luke entered the room and closed the door behind him. "Why not? I know it only takes you a few minutes to do your homework, so it must be finished. What's so interesting in here that you don't want to come out?" His voice was soft and undemanding so he wouldn't put his son on the spot. "I'd really like to know. I miss you."

Frankie frowned and his posture turned rigid. He shook his head sadly and looked down at the bed.

"Okay," Luke said with disappointment. He looked around the room and sighed. "Alexis is going to be on your case if you don't clean up this room."

Frankie rose from the bed and walked over to his desk, ignoring his father. He fiddled with a schoolbook, opening and closing it while rifling through the pages and holding his breath. Something loomed within him, nudging and threatening to emerge, and the panic seized him as he felt powerless to stop it. Powerless was the word. The very hint of control or forcing him was causing a reaction in him. His life with Frank had bothered him, but not like this. This life with the Spencer family was a game with too many new rules and expectations. He felt a headache coming on like his head was caught in a slowly tightening vise. "I don't clean," he said firmly, flinching with surprise at the harsh sound of his own voice.

Luke held his hand on his hips and counted to ten. Being understanding of Frankie's need for alone time was one thing, but direct disobedience was another. "We discussed the rules in the psychiatrist's office. Cleaning your room weekly is a rule. It's not arbitrary. Sly cleaned his room tonight."

"Sly's stupid," Frankie sneered with a disdainful glance in Luke's direction.

"Name calling won't get you anywhere."

Frankie shrugged away Luke's comment. "It's da truth," he said under his breath. He crossed his arms and turned away from his father. "I'm NOT cleanin' nothing. I'm hiring a maid. I haven't gotten around to it."

"No personal servants, Frankie. We discussed that. Only a cleaning service for the general housework once a week. You're responsible for picking up your own room. It’s not difficult. If you need assistance, ask Sly or me to show you how."

Frankie thrust his fists down with furor as his mind turned fuzzy and drifty. His jaw twitched, and he clenched his teeth as he whirled around and glowered at Luke. "Nobody shows me what to do." He spread his hands before him and visually located his ring. "I'm number two." He frowned as he felt removed from the room and heard the words spoken but didn’t know why or what he was saying. It was as if he were watching someone else interacting with his father, but he was unable to interrupt.

"Lose the attitude!" Luke spat back. "There are rules, and you agreed to the rules."

Frankie's hand reached out and picked up a ceramic pencil holder, dashing it to the wall and causing it to break into sharp pieces with a loud, crashing bang. His face grew red with anger and determination. He reached for anything suitable for breaking, throwing or stamping and yelled curses at the top of his voice. Luke quickly reached for Frankie's laptop and removed it from danger as his heart raced with anger and fear. His son had never lost control with him like this. Frankie's behavior was similar to when he'd throttled Frank's whore at the will reading, but why was he doing this now?

Frankie toppled all of the books out of his bookshelf, sending them toward all four corners of his room, and Luke stepped in when the boy started dislocating the shelf from the desk as if he were going to pitch the piece of furniture to the floor.

"NO!" Frankie shouted with rage when he sensed Luke closing in on him. He flung his back against the wall as his chest heaved and his eyes widened. His palms slapped soundly against the drywall and his fingers curled inward. When Luke stepped toward him, he suddenly charged like an enraged bull, headfirst toward Luke's chest.

Luke's body absorbed the furor of his son's charging head, and he ran backward a few steps as he made a loud "oof" sound. He wrapped his arms tightly around Frankie's arms, pulling him toward him and restraining him as he tried to talk some sense into him and allow him to calm down.

"Calm yourself, calm down," he said in a measured tone with his anger fleeing as he realized Frankie wasn't able to control himself. "It's okay. No one's getting hurt," he said. He tried frantically to remember the instructions he'd received from Ivy Hills on handling situations like this. It was shocking but not unexpected. As his life took on safety and order, Frankie would inevitably start releasing the anger that he'd been forced to hide while living in the madman's mansion, and it would not necessarily be directed in an intellectual fashion, instead flaming and shooting out wildly if something triggered it.

Frankie continued to scream and attempted to disengage himself from Luke's grasp, but his father held him firmly while talking to him. Finally, Frankie stopped vocalizing, and his wild actions began tiring his tense muscles. When he moaned and his knees buckled, Luke led him to the bed, depositing Frankie onto the mattress and sitting down beside him. Frankie curled into himself and rocked and cried with Luke holding a firm hand on his back, rubbing it and trying to soothe him. "It's okay," Luke repeated soothingly over and over again, trying to communicate by tone of voice.

~*~*~*~

"You were with him for a long time," Alexis said quietly. She knelt on the bed behind Luke and rubbed some of the tension away from his tight shoulder muscles.

"It took awhile to calm him down," Luke replied. He sighed deeply as his muscles began relaxing for the first time in two hours. "We need to pay extra attention to his medication schedule. He'd been without for several hours."

"I wonder if the mood stabilizer is working for him. Maybe he needs something different," Alexis suggested.

"First he needs to take the medications as they're prescribed. Then, if they don't work, we'll see. I'm going to be watching him more closely."

"That's what sets him off."

Luke nodded and slapped his knees. "Catch-22. Damned if you do, damned if you don't."

"Sly is with Bobbie. I took him over there when Frankie started screaming."

Luke turned to look at his wife. "How is he?"

"Upset, worried, guilty. That boy carries the world on his shoulders. None of this is his fault."

"Sly would feel responsible for anything within the family. It's his dynamic from living with Bill. I never was able to completely break him of it."

"He has a big heart."

"Which backfires on him. I suppose he's feeling guilty because he cleaned his room and Frankie didn't? And that's what started this?"

Alexis nodded. "I think so."

"This is so messed up." Luke leaned back against Alexis and closed his eyes. "Why can't kids get what they need? What's so hard about loving a kid? We're all the walking wounded."

"It's the world?" Alexis guessed.

Luke rose from the bed with a determined motion. "Not our world. We're going to change it."

Next chapter...