Chapter Seventy-Three

"So you're coming with me to Atlantic City tomorrow?" Alexis asked as she got into bed and faced her husband.

"That's the plan," Luke replied. He reached for Alexis and pulled her close to him, thoughtfully stroking her hair as he searched her face for clues to her emotions. She'd been quiet that evening, after he'd calmed Frankie down and returned to their bedroom. He hoped the continual drama with Frankie wasn't starting to wear on her. They'd only been married for a short time, weeks really, and he was determined to make this marriage work for both of them. So far, Alexis had been extremely motivated to help his son and very patient, but he wondered how long that would last. She was only human after all, and he'd had his fair share of doubts and anxieties concerning Frankie's condition and the boy's ability to make a decent life with them.

"I'm nervous," Alexis admitted. "I'm glad you'll be with me. Apparently there have been new developments on the estate property, and they want Frankie's attorney there. They're very closed mouthed about it. That's not good."

"Your radar is on?"

"Yes. Entirely. We'd better be ready for whatever comes up. The arrangements for the boys are in place, aren't they? I keep thinking I'm missing something. Sometimes I feel like I'm being pulled in five directions at once. I'm used to living on my own. I love having a family, but it's demanding."

"Frankie won't be going to school tomorrow. I want him to have time to recover from his emotional upset. He'll spend the morning with Ruby and the afternoon with Bobbie. We'll be home in time for dinner, so Sly will be fine at school. He'll return to Bobbie's in the afternoon, and we'll pick both boys up at her house."

"Flying instead of driving will make the day easier, but it'll still be tiring. We'd better get all the sleep we can tonight."

"No nougie?" Luke asked in a sad voice with his lower lip pouting.

Alexis reached out her finger and flipped Luke's lip. "It must be genetic. Frankie does the same exact thing when he wants something. It's the Spencer sad-eyed pout."

Luke pulled Alexis into a big kiss and smiled at her. He laughed at her dimples when she smiled back. "God, I love your smile," he sighed wistfully. "You just wrap me around your finger."

"Likewise," Alexis teased back. "Those baby blues of yours make my toes tingle."

"I think we'd better stop while we're ahead. If we want some sleep that is." Luke's face creased with a devilish smile as a thought entered his mind. "I'm going to spending all day with my girl. I like that. Don't think for one minute that I'm not going to hug and kiss you silly when we're on the flight."

"Of course," Alexis laughed. "I'm all yours." She reached to turn out the light and sighed as she fluffed her pillow. "I love you, Luke."

"I love you, too, darlin.'"

~*~*~*~

Felicia sang while she prepared for bed, brushing her long blond tresses and applying moisturizer to her face. Mac had called two hours ago and said he'd be very late that night; however, she figured he'd be home in time to kiss her goodnight. Her husband had been working obsessively on closing unsolved cases in reaction to heavy pressure from the mayor. Mac only wanted to be a good cop, to influence the men and women under his charge, but the politics seemed to get in his way more often than not. She wondered how long he'd want the police commissioner job as it brought him a great deal of stress. So far their marriage hadn't suffered terribly. Felicia didn't like serving dinner with her husband absent, but the girls filled her life and made the days go by quickly. She was used to absentee husbands after the years she'd spent with Frisco. This wasn't so bad with Mac.

Felicia frowned at the thought of Frisco. What was wrong with that man? Sure, he had WSB missions, but did that mean he couldn’t talk to his daughters for months at a time? Maxie was in her critical teen years where she desperately needed a father's influence, and Georgie had a hard time remembering Frisco. Mac was dad to her, no one else. Felicia laid down her brush on the counter and pulled her hair into the ponytail she usually wore to bed. How could Frisco abandon his daughters like that?

"I'm home," Mac's cheery, masculine voice rang out into the master bedroom. He looked appreciatively at his wife in her evening negligee and tossled hair. "You look so cute like that," he said, smiling. "Come here." Felicia walked into Mac's strong arms and allowed him to enfold her into a hug.

"I missed you tonight," she said with a touch of sadness.

"I missed you, too." Mac sighed as he removed his gun holster and laid it on top of the dresser. "I'd rather be home with you and the girls than cracking the whip at the station."

"I know," Felicia nodded. "It's the mayor again."

"The man knows nothing but politics," Mac groused. "Can he actually do anything but shake hands and kiss babies? I doubt it." Mac ran a hand through his generous brown curls. He laughed when Felicia eyes twinkled back at him, full of mischief. "What?"

"I'm enjoying the view," Felicia teased him. "I've always loved your curly hair."

Mac hugged her again and held her tight, finally separating from their hug and kissing her.

"I have a situation with Maxie," Felicia said regretfully. She hated bringing up problems when she only saw her husband for brief moments of time, but it couldn't be helped.

"What now?" Mac asked curiously. "She's a handful these days."

"It's Frankie, what else."

Mac's green eyes darkened with negative emotion. "He needs to stay away from our daughter."

"Weeell," Felicia said in partial disagreement. "I can't say that's going to happen. Haven't you heard that old expression advising one to keep your friends close but your enemies closer? We need to know what's going on with our daughter and her boyfriend."

"What does she want to do with the kid?" Mac sighed, sitting down on the bed and removing his shoes.

"Frankie and the Spencers have invited her to dinner. It would be Frankie's parents, his brother, and the brother's girlfriend. They want to go tomorrow night. I spoke to Frankie's stepmother on the phone, and she sounded reasonable. I think Maxie would be safe. She wouldn't be dating the boy, not technically, and the family situation is good, so they'd be supervised. Besides, Maxie has been agitating for us to have Frankie over to dinner at our house."

"No way!" Mac shot back. "It wouldn't be right. He's still under investigation in a criminal case. I couldn't socialize with him even if I wanted to."

"I understand," Felicia said sensibly. "That's why I'd like to allow Maxie this dinner. What can it hurt?"

Mac rubbed the back of his neck. "Not much," he conceded. "I'd really like her to break all contact with the boy, though. He's disturbed. He can't control his behavior."

"She'll be safe with the family, and it will allow the Spencers some control over how and when their son meets with our daughter. It's a concern for them as well."

"His stepmother is a pitbull," Mac complained. "She's a very aggressive attorney. It doesn't surprise me she talked you into this."

Felicia's eyes flashed. "That's not fair! You know I have my own mind. I can be very logical as well as have a heart. I put a lot of thought into this."

Mac's face softened when he realized he'd overstepped his boundaries. "I know you have. I'm sorry."

"I don't want these children to turn into a modern day Romeo and Juliet," Felicia said strongly. "If we forbid them any contact, they'll find another way to meet, a way that may be dangerous for them. They'll probably lose interest in one another soon enough, but I want them safe until that happens. From what I've heard, this Frankie deserves some parental attention and care as well. The boy was kidnapped and forced to live with a man who didn't have his best interests at heart."

Mac remained silent for a minute. "I know," he finally said. "I can see it in the kid's face. He's scared to death, unsure how to act or react to his new life. I feel sorry for what I did to him by throwing him in jail like that. It was a bad judgment call." He reached for Felicia and held her hand while searching her face. "I trust you. You have a good head on your shoulders. I think I overreact sometimes when it comes to the girls because they don't have their father in their lives. I try to become a "Superdad" in response. I need to back away occasionally and not be so intense. It didn't work with Robin and look what happened. I'm going to trust you on this."

Felicia kissed Mac and ran her index finger over his cheek. "You're a good man," she said softly. "I appreciate you, and the girls do, too. You've been a fine father figure to them."

~*~*~*~

Sly lay on his back, staring straight up at the shadowed, white ceiling. His hands were folded behind his head in his classic "thinking" position that he assumed when sleep was elusive and troubles flooded his mind. He was comfortable at his Aunt Bobbie's. He'd been there quite a bit in the past few months, and her laughter and gentle ways were welcome during this tumultuous time with his brother returning and the adjustments that needed to be made. Only a matter of weeks ago, Sly had befriended Frankie and brought him to dinner. He hadn't known Frankie's true identity at the time, but he wondered if the genetic bond were there right from the start, as if the two boys had instinctively recognized one another. It seemed that way with the easy friendship that had blossomed immediately. Of course, there were the differences in lifestyle and upbringing, which were the primary reasons the brothers often didn't see eye to eye.

Sly couldn't understand why Frankie found it so difficult to cooperate. What was so hard about cleaning your room? Did it take on some mysterious meaning in the Atlantic City mansion that Frankie had called home? Or was it more to do with the crazy father? Sly guessed the latter. Frank's shadow still seemed to engulf his kidnapped son no matter how hard anyone tried to clear it away. At times, Sly had felt his heart harden, and his anger bubble up when he'd recognized that Frank quality surrounding his brother.

A shiver passed through Sly as his thoughts turned to the scream that Frankie had uttered and that had prompted Alexis into action. She'd grabbed a few articles of clothing and Sly's backpack, leading him toward the door with a swiftness that prevented him from protesting. Someone just walked over your grave, Bill would have said to his shivering, young son, and that's the way Sly felt. His instincts told him things might get worse before they improved. He decided it wasn't easy to make a change in families. He remembered how upset he'd been at the slightest alterations in routine after moving in with Luke. He hadn't wanted to bother Luke, but Bill had given him a cup of hot chocolate on nights when he couldn’t sleep and had listened to his young son while sharing a cup himself. It was an easygoing intimacy born of a lifetime spent together. With Luke, everything had become new again, and it brought a sense of uneasiness, as if the foundations of the world were shifting, not steady or firm. Maybe Frankie felt that way, too. Sly decided that you had to start out new and fresh when living with other people. You created new routines and new memories. Looking behind you at the past could keep you from coping, from moving forward and claiming the future. New wasn't so bad, but it kind of hurt, like growing pains.

Sly turned over on his side as he was becoming sleepy. Was he showing off, cleaning his room so often and keeping it neat? He knew Frankie was clueless about looking after himself. Maybe he should have offered to help his new brother clean his room. But, he had homework, long phone conversations with Emily and television sitcoms to watch with his mom and dad. He couldn't be there all the time, showing Frankie the ropes. Sometimes it was sink or swim.

Still, the desperation of Frankie's cries had cut him to the quick, puncturing his soul and bothering him. He could still hear the sounds and feel his heart clench in reaction. Was happiness impossible for some people? Was Frankie one of those people?

"I don't want to give up," Sly whispered into the night. "He's my brother." Sly had surprised even himself with the strength of that bond, so strong after only knowing Frankie for a few weeks. Sly had figured he'd always be an only child, but now he not only had Frankie, but Nikolas as well. It felt good to him, right to the marrow of his bones. "I don't understand, but I'll help him," he whispered again.

Sly reserved his thoughts of Bill for the times he lay by himself in bed. Sometimes, Bill's face popped up in his mind during the day when a sound or an activity brought back memories. Luke patting him on top of his head the other day had reminded him of Bill's natural, subtle affection, sometimes showed and rarely spoken. Sly supposed the same thing happened to Frankie only the memories probably weren't positive. He was fortunate that he loved Bill with no hesitation or second thoughts. He had lots of good memories. Bill's face loomed in his mind, and Sly smiled with the memory.

*** Bean, how long are you going to watch those lima beans? Aren't they finished growing by now?"

"No, Dad. They need to be watered for one more week. I'm charting their growth for the science fair. See? Isn't it cool?"

Bill shook his head as the experiment only reminded him of rotten beans needing to be thrown away down the garbage disposal. He lightly popped Sly on the arm and caught his son's eye. "I admire your tenacity," he said, half joking. "I never dreamed I'd be living with a real life scientist."

"Oh, Dad," Sly jested. "I'm not a real scientist yet. I'm only in the fifth grade." Sly was so literal at times, feeling the need to correct a possibly incorrect nuance in his father's words.

"I'm referring to your ability to conduct an experiment and do it correctly - to stick with it. It's a good trait to have. It'll serve you well." Bill looked kindly at his young son and felt happy to be a part of his life.

Sly's eyes lit up with the realization that his father admired him. "Thanks," he nodded, snapping at a lima bean with a curious motion of his index finger. "I'm trying my best to win." ***

Sly rolled over contentedly and snuggled into the covers. He knew that his father had loved him, that Bill had considered his life richer with his son's presence. He wasn't the most demonstrative father, rarely touching his son or hugging him - it just wasn't his way. But, he'd instilled a sense of pride, love and caring into his young son, qualities that had taken root and allowed him to grow and develop. His second dad, Luke, was much more physical, always hugging Sly and patting him on the back with yet one more attaboy. Sly felt immensely lucky. Not everyone got to experience two great dads all in one lifetime.

~*~*~*~

~ Darkness darkness be my pillow 
Take my hand and let me sleep
In the coolness of your shadow
In the silence of your deep
Darkness darkness hide my yearning for the things I cannot see
Keep my mind from constant turning
To the things I cannot be *

Frankie lay on his side and scrunched his face deeper into his cool pillow. His eyes were open in the dark, staring at the shadowed, geometric shapes made by his dresser and desk. His mind was blank, but his body felt like it had been through world war three with its tired heaviness and assorted aches and pains. Every once in awhile, a muscle would twitch somewhere in his arm, thigh or hand, a remnant of the massive amounts of adrenaline that had earlier sped into his bloodstream. He ran a soft, tentative fingertip over his assorted scars. The more recent ones made him flinch with their tenderness, a sign of their still unhealed state, but the older ones were thicker and more rigid with the tissue hiding and covering the original injuries. They had flagrantly left behind their marks, permanently changing the landscape of his body and soul.

Assorted thoughts drifted through Frankie's mind as his breathing became more regular and even with the action of his medications and impending sleep. Vague sounds of Luke's calm, soothing voice filled his mind as he saw flashes of someone taking care of him: holding his arms up, undressing him and replacing his clothes with a large sleep shirt; placing a toothbrush into his hand and closing his fingers around it; sprinkling pills into his cupped hand and holding a glass of water to his lips; being led to his bed and having the blankets tucked around him; a hand stroking his hair until he closed his eyes.

~ Darkness darkness be my blanket 
Cover me with this endless night
Take away oh...this day of knowing
Fill this emptiness with light
Emptiness with light now.

Frankie coughed hard and felt a pain ripple in his chest, under the healing incision from his gunshot wound. A familiar metallic taste danced on his tongue. It was a hard won familiarity, filled with the pain of punches, backhanding, and swollen and split lips. He licked his lips, but the bully's punches from earlier in the morning had only left him with several bruises in that vicinity. He scrunched up tighter, pulling his arms and legs protectively into his midriff, closing his eyes and willing the feelings of despair and certainty to escape him. It seemed like it was his destiny to be someone's punching bag, to be used whenever another person wanted to exercise anger or frustration. The morning's beating at school twisted and linked permanently to the past with invisible yet iron clad chains. Frankie sighed and allowed the tears to well in his eyes. His eyes were closed, but the images and sounds pummeled him with their truth.

*** But, Dad, I don't want to," a thirteen year old Frankie protested. He started shaking like a leaf because he knew he was in for it with his negative reply to his father's demand. Frank didn't react well to being disobeyed. Frankie was in his father's apartment in the mansion, directed into the inner sanctum after dinner for a light business discussion. Unfortunately, Cathy was there to enjoy the show. Her favorite moments were when Frank humiliated Frankie in front of her, especially when she was invited to participate.

After only one drink, Frank was firing off questions and demands at his young son, and the boy couldn't keep up. Frankie's half empty beer sloshed wetly in its bottle when he was harshly grabbed around the neck by Frank's strong arm, and the beer soon flowed down the boy's arm to the accompaniment of Cathy's tinkling laughter. Frank led his son to an imposing, gold floor to ceiling mirror beside the front door to his apartment. Frankie instinctively cringed as he'd been in front of that mirror before.

"What kind of a son are you?" Frank's nasty voice rang out. He shook Frankie by the neck as if he were a chicken ready to be killed. "I told you to execute them. What did you do? You let them go."

"I don't like killing people," Frankie's young, high pitched voice squeaked out. "It wasn't necessary. Honest." The beer bottle slipped from his fingers and lightly bounced onto the carpet.

Frank grabbed Frankie by the hair, making the boy flinch as his roots sang out in pain. He pushed Frankie's face within an inch of the mirror and shook his head as the boy's mouth opened in shock. "You do as I tell you," Frank growled. "No questions, no lip, no thought. You are my creation, so you do my bidding. You do it!"

"Ah, ah," Frankie cried out when Frank pulled him up so hard by the hair that the boy's feet barely touched the floor.

"Look!" Frank screamed as Frankie turned white and trembled. "LOOK at your pathetic face."

"So pretty," Cathy sneered in the background as she settled further into the couch and sighed in contentment at her favorite form of entertainment.

"You short, runt, son of a whore." Frank was gaining his wind, just starting in on his usual rant. "I should have had you killed years ago. Look at you. You'll never amount to anything. No one will respect you - you have no guts and you look like a girl. If you don't get any taller I definitely will kill you - with my own hands, out of disgust. If you want to stand by my side and be my son, you have to look the part."

All Frankie could do was squeak when Frank briefly lifted him off the ground by his hair. Frank turned him around to directly stare into Frankie's blinking, terrified eyes. "You deserve everything you get. You're a screw-up, an idiot, a disgrace. You make me hate you. Ugly," Frank said in disgust. He pushed Frankie away from him and smashed his fist into the boy's face, causing Frankie to loose his balance and topple down on his butt.

"So pretty he's ugly," Cathy added for reinforcement. She took another sip of her martini and giggled with her finger twirling the olive.

Frank crossly kicked at Frankie's legs and waved his hand. "Get out of here. I'd better have a report on my desk by 6AM tomorrow morning. I want those people dead. Understand me?"

"Yes," Frankie mumbled as he creakily rose from the floor. His scalp and face were throbbing, and his dinner threatened to rise from his stomach. He tasted the blood in his mouth from where his tooth had torn into his inner cheek, and he halfheartedly attempted to tidy his hair and clothing as he warily backed away from his father with an arm ready to protectively cover his face if Frank came at him again.

"GO!" Frank shouted as he shoved Frankie toward the door, causing the boy to stumble. Frankie breathed a sigh of relief as the door slammed behind him with a swift, dismissive motion. He'd survived...with minimal damage...and nothing needing to be repaired. He hadn't been as lucky at other times. But he hadn't counted on the damage that didn't show, the damage contained in his mind and heart. He shrugged as he walked away. "Dey're dead," he said with no emotion. "Tonight's da night." ***

Frankie moaned in misery. He was destined to be a screw-up, beaten because he deserved it and never fitting in. He knew this as sure as he breathed. The locale may be different, but times were still the same. The stakes were high, and he knew he was messing this up, too, this new family of his. He closed his eyes sadly and fell into a fitful sleep.

~*~*~*~

11:30PM

Sonny watched the last light turn off for the evening in the Spencer home. He was sitting in cramped interior of his tiny yellow car, parked across the street, several doors down from the house. He sighed massively. Stalking was hard work. He surveyed the passenger's seat and floor and decided that he was becoming a disgusting person. All around him were empty fast food wrappers and bags. He was basically living out of his car, unable to leave it for fear he'd miss out on Smith Junior coming or going from a building. Each new sighting fueled his desire for revenge. He'd take the kid's wheelchair and push him down the stairs if need be. Hadn't he seen that in a movie once? Sonny's lack of cultural education was annoying at times, even to himself. Not for the first time, he wished he'd gone to college instead of becoming involved in mob activities. Life sure would have been easier if he'd run a few legitimate businesses. What would he do with his life now? The Mafia would kill him if he attempted to resurrect his fallen mini-empire.

Sonny looked down at his ravaged fingertips, still sooty black from his mishap that afternoon with the gunpowder and a match he'd stupidly lit near it. They were sore and throbbing in tune to his phantom toe. I hate you, Smith Junior. He looked toward the house again. Why am I sitting here? Maybe I should take the rest of my money and just hire a hit man. He hesitated as another thought came to him. Yes, but then I wouldn't have the funds to fly to France.

~*~*~*~

11:45PM

The two men in the black car, parked a few houses back from the crazy yellow vehicle, were having a disagreement over the particulars of "plan B." Both were still wearing their ever present dark glasses, but at this time of night they were equipped with infrared vision for surveillance purposes.

"Why don't we just doctor up the food in the house? Slip some of this into the milk?" The man was wearing black gloves and dangling the brown bottle in front of his partner.

"No," the other man said as he shook his head in disagreement. "We only want Smith Junior. If they all go down, the plan won't work. We can't control who would drink the milk."

"But that stuff could sit out in the woods for weeks. We have no control over the timing." He flipped his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the case of beer in the back seat. "It was too expensive to place that substance into each can. How will we know when he gets to the appropriate cans - if ever?"

"We've been tailing him 24/7 for days," the other man pointed out. "We'll just keep an eye out at all times. The kid likes to drink during the evenings, after dinner. We'll step up our surveillance at those times."

"The men are all activated and in place? They're ready for him?"

The other man nodded. "Whenever and wherever they take him. We've got it covered at every facility within a hundred mile radius. He won't get away this time."

"What about the weirdo in the yellow car?"

"He's a pretty good stalker. He only left the car once today to take a leak at McDonalds's. He must have a bladder the size of the Titanic. He's easy to keep track of and spot. Where he goes, Smith Junior isn't far behind. Let him do the work for us."

"What if he kills the kid?"

"He won't. He's an idiot."

"What if he gets lucky?"

"Could anyone driving that crap car have luck?" the other man snorted. "Give me a break."

"Well, you have a point. He's like an enraged cartoon character."

"Who is he?"

"An ex-mobster, small time but used to be rather successful. La Cosa Nostra took him out, and he blames Smith Junior."

"I kind of like the kid."

"You'll like him better when he's on our side. Now go and replace those beer cans with ours. Just make sure Tweety Bird doesn't see you."

~*~*~*~

2:30AM

Luke's eyes popped open, and he was instantly awake. Rising up on his elbow, his ears strained to listen. He'd heard something. He threw off his blanket and stepped onto the floor as he heard it again, some kind of noise from the direction of Frankie's room. When he opened the bedroom door, it was louder. He left the door ajar, and Alexis woke up groggily a few seconds later. "Luke?" she asked with a sleepy voice and a hand reaching for the empty spot on his side of the bed. Her eyes squinted at the bright light of the hallway filtering into the darkness of the room.

"Frankie?" Luke asked tiredly as he turned on the light to his son's bedroom. "Is something wrong?" His last words faded away in puzzlement when he saw his son.

Frankie was on his hands and knees in the middle of the bed with the blankets still covering him. He cowered and looked extremely pale with a face scrunched in pain. His right hand frantically searched around him, and his left hand was held firmly on the side of his head. "Ohhh," he gasped out repeatedly. He panted as if he were panicked, and his eyes looked blank as if staring into pitch blackness surrounding him. "Dad?" he asked.

"I'm here," Luke said, moving forward. He hesitated before touching his son. What was going on with him? Was this a dream or something else entirely?

"Luke, don't touch him. He's not talking to you," Alexis said hoarsely upon entering the room. She tied the sash of her robe as she stepped over to her husband. "I think he's having a flashback. Remember Laura telling us about what happened at Wyndemere? He's done this before. Just let him go until he snaps out of it."

"I want to help him," Luke protested as he looked back and forth from his son to his wife.

"Give him space and a minute to work this out," Alexis said calmly. She held onto Luke's arm to reassure him, but she was feeling a bit panicked herself. She'd never seen anything like this before.

Frankie reared up on his knees, but soon cringed and crouched lower. He rhythmically slapped his hands in the air and cried harder. "Daddydaddydaddydaddy!" Tears soaked his cheeks, and he gripped his stomach. "Oooohh." He fell over onto his side and vomited with a violence that scared Luke.

"I've had enough," Luke declared as he raced to Frankie's side, pulling him away from the mess he'd made. He jumped back and turned white as a sheet when Frankie let out an unnatural scream in response to being touched. Frankie pushed away his father's hands and cried harder. He scooted away and hunched down with his arms wrapped protectively around his face. "Nooo," he exclaimed with a shake of his head. He continued to huddle and whimper.

"What's wrong with him?" Luke breathed out. "Should we take him to the hospital?"

"I honestly don't know," Alexis said worriedly. "Maybe we should call Laura and see if he's done this at Wyndemere."

"Call her then!" Luke exclaimed with an annoyed wave of his hand. He didn't want to leave the boy alone for a second.

"Daddyyyyyyy!" Frankie screamed forlornly.

Luke stepped from side to side, shaking inside and unable to remain still. He tucked his hands under his armpits and allowed the tears build in his eyes. "What should I do?" he asked no one in particular. He stepped up to Frankie, uncertain but willing to risk touching him again. "Son?" he asked with a broken voice. Sitting near the boy, he pulled Frankie towards him and wrapped his arms around him. "Your dad's here," he said authoritatively. He pulled Frankie from the bed and helped him stand. "Wake up, Frankie. Come on, now." He lightly shook the boy, and Frankie became aware of his surroundings as he looked around with a caution and fear that hurt Luke's heart.

"I'll be good," Frankie said in a teary voice. He looked up into Luke's face and frowned in confusion. "He made me do it. I didn't wanna." Terror spilled from every pore of the boy, and Luke wasn't sure who he was talking to.

Alexis returned with both the portable phone and a clean set of sheets. "Seat him over there," she directed with a finger pointed to the desk chair. She cradled the phone against her ear and shoulder as she began stripping the bed and rolling the soiled sheets into a pile on the floor. "Laura," she said apologetically. "This is Alexis. I am so sorry to bother you, but we have a problem." Alexis listened to Laura's reply and spread the clean sheets over the bare mattress. "Frankie's had a flashback...maybe. He's just coming around. We were wondering how to help him. What did you do when this happened at Wyndemere?" Alexis listened intently for minutes and nodded while she smoothed a blanket over the freshly made bed. "Just a sec."

Alexis held her hand over the phone and said softly, "They reassured him. Stefan held him for awhile until he was ready to sleep again."

Luke led Frankie back to the bed and sat him down on it. He motioned for the phone. "Laura? He seems to respond best to your voice. Will you talk to him?" He lay Frankie down on his side and placed the phone to his ear.

After a minute, Frankie breathed out, "Mama?" He accepted the phone from Luke and blinked tiredly, running a hand over his face.

"Yes, it's your mother. Your father called me because he was concerned about you. You had another bad dream or memory?"

"I don't know," Frankie answered uncertainly. "Where am I?"

"You're at your dad's house."

"Oh. Okay."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

Frankie smiled slightly. "I like talkin' to you. It makes me feel better."

"Good. Then we'll talk for awhile until you want to go back to sleep."

"'Kay," Frankie answered tiredly. "I love you, Mama."

"I love you, too." Laura hesitated as Frankie's voice sounded higher pitched and younger than before. "Would you like me to sing you a song? You always liked me to sing to you when you were a baby."

"'Kay," Frankie said again.

Laura began singing a lullaby in a light voice, one that she'd often sung quietly to an infant Lucky many years ago. She hesitated and then sang the song again.

Frankie curled up on his side and shut his eyes, his lips moving to the words being sung on the other end of the phone line as if he'd heard them before and memorized them in some remote portion of his brain. He sighed and let the phone fall from his hand as he lost muscle tone with impending sleep. Alexis took the phone and spoke to Laura with a whisper. "Thanks. He's asleep now. We'll call you tomorrow with an update. Thanks. Good night." She turned off the phone and stared down at her stepson who now was sucking on his thumb and appeared peaceful and angelic. She covered him with a blanket and motioned with her head for Luke to join her out in the hall. She turned off the light but left the bedroom door ajar in case he woke again.

"He seems to be okay," Alexis commented.

"I hope so. I truly hope so. It's so hard on me emotionally seeing him like that. I wonder what happened to him. What is he reliving? He was terrified."

"Maybe it's better we don't know. It's hard enough seeing the effects of Frank Smith on the boy, let alone knowing what exactly caused this incident."

"I could reach beyond the grave and kill that man," Luke gritted out.

"Wait until the next life and duke it out?" Alexis suggested in an attempt at humor.

~*~*~*~

Monaco, 6AM

The sun was rising along the balmy Mediterranean coastline, subtlely warming the surrounding hills and activating the nearly continual breezes that sweetened the air. Nikolas and Athena were sound asleep in their generous king-sized bed, naked except for the sheets that covered them and not likely to wake up anytime soon after having gone to bed only three hours earlier. They'd thoroughly enjoyed their last day at the casinos, not spending much money at the tables or slot machines, but instead having fun dressing up and soaking in the electric vibes of the nightlife.

Nikolas had placed a Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of their door before they retired, so he frowned angrily when he heard the rapid knock waking him from a dream. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the clock beside him, cursing when he saw the early morning hour. He'd planned on sleeping in until at least noon before preparing to catch a flight to Greece later in the afternoon. Their trip was coming to a close, and Nikolas would soon send for the Cassadine jet to pick him up in Athens. He rose from the bed, searched the floor and found his silk boxers, clumsily pulling them on as he trod his bare feet to the door. Pushing aside his bangs, he cleared his throat and stretched his posture to his full height as he unconsciously donned his imposing Cassadine presence in preparation for yelling at a hotel employee on the other side of the door.

Even though his brain was still foggy, Nikolas made a surprised sound when he yanked open the door and stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him in order to protect its other occupant. He was caught off guard wearing only his boxers, and he crossed his arms to hide his relative nakedness. "Father? What are you doing here?" Nikolas' brows knit together, but his eyes betrayed his youthful nerves at being caught in an indiscretion.

"Nikolas," Stefan's commanding yet emotion-tinged voice answered. He looked tired from his overnight flight with dark circles and the hint of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Nikolas stood embarrassed and sheepish before his father, and he wondered how he'd keep Athena's presence a secret.

Stefan walked up to Nikolas and pulled his son into a hug without asking his permission. There were a few tears in Stefan's eyes when he stepped back and searched his son's face for a reaction.

Nikolas turned tearful as well and looked down at the richly carpeted floor of the hotel hallway.

Stefan cut to the chase with his characteristic directness. "I know Athena is in your room," he said. "Come with me to breakfast so she will have a chance to dress."

Nikolas nodded his assent. "I'll throw some clothes on and be out in a minute." He was feeling a flood of embarrassment, relief and weariness all at once. He hadn't realized how stressful it had been trying to outrun and outsmart his father. It was inevitable that Stefan would catch up with them. He was grateful his father didn't make a scene when he showed up, but that action would be more like his mother. She was the emotional one, at least on the surface. Of course, she must be home with the baby, not with Stefan on his "find Nikolas" mission.

Athena was sitting up in bed with a tired, confused look on her face. "What's going on? Who was at the door? You were out there a long time."

Nikolas looked at her with seriousness. "It's my father. He found us. Finally." When Athena looked panicked and pulled the sheet closer to her naked body, he laughed. "He knows you're in here. He's not going to violate your privacy. He's waiting in the hallway. We're going to breakfast to give you time to get ready in peace."

Athena jettisoned up from the bed. "Ohmigosh, ohmigosh," she said frantically. "What's he going to do?"

"What can he do?" Nikolas questioned. "Our trip is over anyway. We're going back to Greece this afternoon."

"I am," Athena shot back. "I suppose you'll be flying back to Port Charles with your father."

"Likely so," Nikolas agreed. "I'm still seventeen, a minor."

Athena gave him a devilish grin. "You don't act like one, sweetheart."

Nikolas shook his head as he walked over to the dresser and pulled out a clean shirt. "Yes, in a way, I do. We've been playing house. It's time to get back to our lives and responsibilities."

Athena walked over to him and ran her soft hand down the length of his back. "I don't regret a minute of the days we've spent together. It will make our time apart easier now that we've talked about our relationship so honestly."

Nikolas smiled. "I think so." He kissed her and watched her walk away to the bathroom. I love her. I'm going to miss her like crazy. Maybe we can do holidays in England. He glanced in the mirror and ran a comb through his hair. I must be presentable for Father. I wonder what he's going to say to me. Surely he won't raise his voice in public.

After dressing, Nikolas exited the room and joined his father by the elevator. Both men looked Cassadine to the core with their chiseled features and aristocratic mannerisms. "I'm ready, Father."

* lyrics from Dreamland, "Darkness Darkness," Robert Plant

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