Fallen Angel - TOC

Chapter Seventy-Four

Monaco...

Father and son hadn't spoken during their elevator ride down to the hotel breakfast buffet. It was as if they were waiting to reach their destination before beginning an intense conversation that might result in a public display of emotion. They seamlessly navigated through the hotel guests to the back of the dining area with an occasionally murmured French comment as fluent as their English, Greek or Russian. It wasn't unusual for the two to be in an international location as much as it was for them to be alone with each other. It seemed like Laura had been nearby during most of their interactions in recent years. Superficial conversations had primarily taken place at the dinner table, regardless if it were in the United States or on the Greek island.

Stefan studied his son under his eyelashes as he feigned glancing at the menu. There was so much he wanted to tell his son, but he didn't want to scare him away with intense professions of love or apologies. In fact, it might be better to allow his son to do the majority of the talking.

Nikolas acted flustered as he flipped through the pages of his menu and finally slapped it beside his napkin. "I'll have the buffet," he said sullenly. A bad mood was overtaking him as he was becoming more nervous and unsure of what his father would say or do.

"Yes," Stefan agreed as he too abandoned his menu. He ran a hand over his hair and felt the stubble on his cheek. It had been a long, hard night, and the flight over had been filled with turbulence. He'd rushed to the Cassadine jet as soon as Frankie had delivered the news, and he was now regretting not packing a small, overnight bag.  He studied his son's face and felt a pang of regret when he noticed the strong, smooth planes of his face - Nikolas was no longer a teen - he was a young man. When had that happened and why hadn't he noticed?

"Tu n'est ce pas faché?" Nikolas finally asked sheepishly.**

Stefan's right eyebrow rose in amusement. "Moi? Faché? Pourquoi?"

Nikolas shrugged. "Je ne sais pas."

The waitress interrupted them with their complimentary coffees. "Voila vos consummations."

Nikolas looked uncomfortable with his dark, almond shaped eyes darting around until the waitress went on her way to the next table.

"Tu sais bien," his father answered formally as he draped his napkin across his lap.

"Tu sais bien que je fais toujours tout ce que tu veux!" Nikolas protested.

Before he could utter his next word, Stefan interrupted with a wave of his hand. "Vraiment, toujours?"

"You know what I mean," Nikolas answered in English. When traveling internationally, the family always switched easily back and forth among their languages, although they usually conversed in English because of Laura's language limitations. "This is the first time I've ever disobeyed you in a significant way."

"I would like to hear your explanation," Stefan answered easily as he sipped his coffee and sighed in gratitude for a little caffeine. "Your mother was very worried, and frankly so was I. We missed you very much."

"I missed you, too," Nikolas muttered as he wrapped his fingers around his coffee cup. "It took me awhile to realize that. Athena helped me."

"Athena," Stefan said speculatively.

"Yes, Athena. I love her, father. I fell in love with her two years ago on the island. We've been together ever since. She's my girlfriend. I never told you because I assumed you'd disapprove, and I see I'm right by your tone of voice."

"Do not place words in my mouth, Nikolas. I would like to hear your thoughts and feelings first. Then, I will speak to my feelings."

"Fine." Nikolas paused and looked away. "I asked her to marry me. Don't have a heart attack - she turned me down - for now. We'll probably marry in a few years. She's very excited about her upcoming education at Oxford, thanks to the foundation you set up."

"I recall her application. She is a very bright young woman."

"She talked to me about my feelings, and I believe I've worked them out for the most part. I'm not sure I'll ever fully appreciate my younger brother, but I'm ready to stop being a bully. I was out of line with him, and I understand that."

Stefan looked with admiration at the young man seated across from him. He seemed to have matured greatly in the space of two weeks. "Your brother was concerned about you and feeling guilty as well. It was he who found you. You visited his casino." Stefan's eyes twinkled with amusement at the variety of expressions that passed across Nikolas' face - anger, surprise, humor.

"Figures," he answered shortly. "It was the gaudiest place in town - something right out of the times of the Romans. It had Napoleon written all over it. I suppose he designed it as well."

"He is very intelligent, your brother. He has sold his illegal businesses, you know. And, he's allowing me to run the legitimate ones. He is a student now at the local high school. I admire him for the way he's adjusting to the changes in his environment."

"He's not drinking anymore, is he?"

Stefan shook his head. "I hope not. He is under a doctor's care still."

"I never should have roughed him up the way I did. I'm sorry about that. He was just out of the hospital and couldn't fight back."

"I'm glad you understand," Stefan answered.

"Athena is going back to Greece this afternoon. We need to take her to the airport."

"And you're returning with me?" Stefan asked lightly.

"Yes."

Stefan reached out his hand to cover his son's, and his eyes brightened with a few unshed tears. "This pleases me. We have so much to discuss."

Nikolas cleared his throat as his emotions got the best of him as well. "Yes, we do, Father." His eyes met the man who he realized was the foundation of his life. "Thank you for finding me." He laughed and toasted Stefan with his coffee cup. "We have eight hours on the plane - all by ourselves."

Stefan's face darkened, and he rubbed his eyes. "Do not remind me. This jet lag has taken the wind out of my sails."

~*~*~*~

Next morning in Port Charles...

Frankie slowly walked into Ruby's diner, using his crutches to propel himself toward the counter. Luke followed closely behind him, holding the door open and carrying Frankie's backpack full of schoolbooks in case he felt up to studying while taking his break from school. Luke's eyes met Ruby's, and he nodded a greeting to his aunt. Earlier, he'd called Ruby and had explained the situation, including what occurred the previous night, so she was prepared for Frankie and any interesting behavior he might exhibit that morning.

"Hiya kid," she called out to Frankie as she rounded the corner of the counter and gave him a brief hug and kiss.

"Hi Aunt Ruby," Frankie answered in a quiet voice. He glanced at Ruby and then let his gaze fall to the floor. He was usually quite lively with his great aunt, and she felt a sense of concern over him.

At least he's somewhat himself this morning, Luke thought. I hate leaving him for the day, but I trust Ruby and Bobbie. 

"Want some breakfast? I can whip you up something," Ruby offered.

Frankie shook his head no, and Luke held a hand on his son's shoulder. "I'll help you upstairs then," Luke said.

"Your old room is waiting for you," Ruby explained. "I'll be up to talk to you after my morning help arrives." She reached over the counter and grabbed a muffin, wrapping it in a napkin. "Take this with you in case you change your mind and want something to eat. I know you're not a coffee drinker. Do you want a soda pop to take with you?"

Frankie nodded and waited for his aunt to return from the kitchen. He unexpectedly reached out and hugged Luke, holding onto him as if he'd never see him again.

Luke smiled and hugged his son back, surprised at the depth of displayed emotion. He patted Frankie on the back and said, "We'll miss you. Make sure you rest up so you'll feel like going to dinner tonight. Maxie's coming, remember? We'll have a wonderful time."

"Dat's great," Frankie admitted with a nod of his head. His eyes continued to look worried, though, and he absentmindedly bit on his thumbnail. "I’m tired."

"That's why we're going to your room," Luke said as he escorted Frankie toward the stairs. "Get as much rest as you need. We're giving you a break from school today."

"Okay," Frankie said as he handed his crutches to his father and tried to pull himself up the stairs by gripping hard on the railing. Luke followed patiently behind him as they painstakingly took the stairs one at a time.

~*~*~*~

Sly watched intently as he waited on Maxie to board the bus. Bertha the bus driver's mood hadn't improved or altered in the last twenty years, and yet again she unceremoniously brought the bus to an abrupt stop that made all the students lurch forward and then fall back into their seats with curses littering the air in protest.

"Maxie," Sly called out with a wave of his hand.

Maxie slid into the seat beside Sly, a seat that he'd been zealously guarding until she arrived. When Bertha's lead foot made the bus lurch forward, Maxie let out a soft shriek/laugh, and Sly instinctively reached out to prevent her from spilling onto the floor. Their eyes met when they both realized he was holding her waist. Sly blushed and pulled his hands back into his lap.

"Thanks for saving me," Maxie said generously.

Sly perked up when he noticed that she wasn't mad at him for touching her. "No problem," he said nonchalantly. "I didn't want you to fall."

"What's wrong with that old lady?" Maxie complained with a shake of her head. "She needs a personality transplant."

Sly's laughter rang out, causing several students to look curiously at the couple. He sat up higher in his seat as his eyes sparkled and his hand slapped his knee. "I like that." He smiled to himself, noticing that he finally felt comfortable around the beautiful girl. They actually had a real friendship apart from her off and on again romance with Frankie. Gone were the days when his tongue dried up in the presence of beauty. Maxie was a person beneath the glamour of her shiny blond hair and pretty blue eyes. Maybe the friendship made her seem more real to him, instead of like a goddess to worship from afar. Goddesses scared him, but real girls made good pals.

"Why are you here?" Maxie asked suddenly. Her eyes betrayed her worry, and Sly quickly picked up on the reason.

"Frankie isn't going to school today. He has some appointments. I stayed with my aunt last night." It was the truth, but not the whole truth. Sometimes that was necessary, not that he wanted to directly lie to Frankie's girlfriend, but it was up to his brother to reveal his own secrets.

"Oh," Maxie said with disappointment. She crossed her arms and pouted as another thought struck her. "So we're not going to dinner tonight? I spent a lot of time buttering up my mother. I don't know if I can do it again any time soon. It was a miracle she decided to let me go this time."

"Oh no," Sly exclaimed. "We're going to dinner. Frankie will be with us - just not in school today."

"He's not in school much as it is," Maxie noted. "Will he be going full time soon?"

"I don't think so. Probably next year. There are only thirty days left this year."

"Summer," Maxie sighed with contentment.

"Yeah," Sly agreed with equal enthusiasm. "I'm going to work in my dad's business this summer and make some money so I'll be rich next year."

"What about Frankie?"

Sly frowned. "I don't know. Depends on what he wants I guess, or if he feels up to it. He's a millionaire. He doesn't need to work. Maybe never."

"It's hard to believe. I mean, he's always had that awesome car and dressed nice, but to be that wealthy?"

"It was his dad," Sly said darkly. "He left most of his estate to Frankie when he died." He looked out of the window to compose himself so he wouldn't break down or say something snarky in front of Maxie.

"Are you okay?" Maxie asked. "You seem upset."

"I'm fine," Sly lied. He took in a deep breath and held it, releasing the air slowly and trying to feel calm. "I have a few bad memories, that's all."

"I can listen if you want." Maxie teased Sly into a smile by lifting the side of his cheek with her finger. "There, you're smiling again. At least it's half a smile. Do you need help with the other side?"

Sly shook his head and smiled at the girl his brother practically worshipped. Her offer to listen was tempting, but he decided he'd wait and talk to Emily at lunch. There was no use in coming between Frankie and Maxie. Besides, those two were so crazy about each other that nothing was likely to come between them - especially if Maxie kept forgiving Frankie for everything. Knowing Frankie, he couldn't behave for long, and so the drama would likely continue.

~*~*~*~

When Ruby checked on Frankie, she noted the half eaten muffin and opened can of soda pop left on top of the dresser. He was sprawled on top of the bed, lying on top of his stomach with his bad leg held carefully away from the rest of his body as if it hurt him while he slept. Ruby walked over to the bed with quiet footsteps and stopped beside it to look at her great nephew.   He breathed in the regular, rapid breaths of a light sleep, and Ruby held her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh when he muttered a few nonsensical words as if he were having an argument with someone. Frankie's fist curled, and his brow furrowed. Ruby thought he looked exactly like Luke had at age fifteen only shorter and with some of Laura's features. Luke had been like this - able to fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

Frankie surprised her by letting out a loud noise and abruptly sitting up with a confused look on his face. He turned his head toward Ruby with squinty eyes and a hand held over his brow. "Ruby?" he gritted out. "Where am I?" Frankie's hands ran over the bed and his eyes roamed the room. "Oh," he said in answer to his question.

Ruby sat beside him on the bed. "You've been snoozing for a few hours. I've been checking in on you."

"Why?"

"Because that's what old people do?" Ruby laughed.

"Oh." Frankie studied Ruby's strong, lined face. "I never knew no old people growing up, except dose guys in da history books." He sighed and folded his hands in his lap. "I guess Frank was almost old." He looked up sharply. "I like you, Ruby. Even dat first day when you hassled me about da beer."

"You're not still drinking beer, are you?" Ruby shot back so quickly that it startled the boy. Frankie wore a sly, lopsided grin that told her otherwise. "Spencers," she muttered with a shake of her head. "Come here. I have something to show you."

Frankie obediently followed Ruby to her apartments and looked around curiously, trying to pick up more information about this intriguing lady. There was only a television in the living room - no VCR and certainly no computer. Not into technology, he noted and filed into his database of a brain. He couldn't help doing this - it was an ingrained habit for him to assess any location or situation as his life often depended on it. He walked like a wary cat, sleek and ready to pounce if necessary. "Sit down on the couch," Ruby said in her characteristic, direct way. "I have something in the other room that I want to show you."

Frankie lightly bounced on the end of the couch and looked around at the framed, flowered paintings on the wall, and assorted kitsch acquired through many years of living. Everything was neat and clean if a bit cluttered. Ruby didn't have a lot of money - that was obvious. The contents of his apartment at the mansion must have cost forty times the value of what was in this room. He shrugged. Ruby didn't need money. She seemed happy like she was and didn't take lip off of anybody, although she was quick with a smile and a hug for him. He wouldn't try to change her. Maybe he'd find some treasure she'd always wanted but could never afford. He could give it to her for a gift, a token of his appreciation. He whistled a tune while he waited and starting singing in a low voice.

"You sure can hold a tune better than your old man," Ruby joked as she entered the room with a thick book that Frankie couldn't identify. "He's tone deaf."

Frankie smiled broadly. "I've always sung. I like it."

"You sounded wonderful with Mr. Frank Sinatra," Ruby commented, sitting beside her nephew and opening the book full of photos.

"I love Frank!" Frankie answered excitedly. "He's da man."

"And so he is," Ruby laughed. She held an arm around Frankie as she pointed at a particular photograph. "I looked at this every night after I first met you. I couldn't believe the resemblance."

Frankie's mouth opened in surprise, and he reached out a tentative forefinger to touch the face. "Dat's my dad," he said softly.

"He's fifteen years old here, just like you."

"Yeah," Frankie said speculatively. "Look at dat. He smiles like me. And he leans like me, too." Frankie noted that Luke was leaning against a front porch post with a casual ease that seemed familiar to him.

"Your father has had a hard life," Ruby said. She looked at Frankie and settled back into the couch, leaving the book on top of the coffee table. "His mother died when he was young, and his father was a difficult man who liked to drink too much, an alcoholic."

Frankie swallowed hard as he'd been "educated" about inheriting that gene. He drew his lower lip under his tooth as he listened intently. He hadn't heard a lot about his father's life, just bit and pieces when Luke was telling him a story or instructing him how to act.

"I took in Luke and his sister Bobbie. They lived with me for years, but I was a madam, and they still had it rough even with me. I regret that." Ruby's eyes filled with tears, and she sniffed them away, used to setting aside her emotions and getting down to business.

"Madam?" Frankie whispered.

"Ran a whorehouse, dearie." 

"Oh. I know about dat."

Ruby's eyes sparkled, and she patted him on the knee. "I know you do. You're fifteen going on forty."

"Dat's what dey say," Frankie said distractedly. He wiped his palms on his pants as he suddenly felt nervous.

Ruby reached for the book again and opened it to Laura's photo. "Luke found a real spot of happiness when he met your mother.

"She's so young and pretty!" Frankie exclaimed when he saw her teenaged face. "Kinda like Maxie."

"And Luke felt the same way about her as you do your girl. But you added a dimension to his life that no one could equal. You completed him, made things right in his mind and heart. All the hurt from his own father years ago was swept away by your presence. All you had to do was be born."

"And so it hurt him bad when he thought I died," Frankie filled in.

Ruby nodded. "What I want you to know is that he never forgot you - ever. Your portrait went everywhere with him, and he talked about you, wondering what you'd be like at this or that age." Ruby gently cupped Frankie's chin and directed his gaze toward her. "I'd like you to be easy on him. Give him more chances than you would another person. He's trying so hard to include you in his life. There's nothing else he'd rather have than his son by his side. You know that in your heart, but I wanted you to hear it from me."

Frankie rubbed his lips together and nodded slightly. "Okay, Aunt Ruby. I'll try harder." Frankie's voice quivered with his next admission. "I know he likes me and wants me around. I just gotta, I don't know, I gotta know how to feel it? I feel upset sometimes, kinda torn between him and Frank. I know I'm not supposed ta care about Frank, but I can't help it. He was my dad, he really was. But Luke is nice to me. I just gotta get used to it. You know? It's different."

Ruby pulled Frankie into a hug. "I know, honey. Thanks for being honest with me. I understand."

"And I'm afraid," Frankie said. His throat felt like it was closing up with the words, words he was never able to say in Luke's presence. "What if he don't like me because of Frank or because of what I did?"

"He understands. It isn't easy on anyone to know how you lived, but he doesn't judge you. It's all about starting over."

"I'm trying."

"You've done a good job so far," Ruby encouraged. "I'm proud of you."

"Really?" Frankie asked in surprise as his eyes lit up. "You really think dat?"

"Definitely," Ruby said as she rose from the couch and extended a hand to Frankie. "I think it's time we made you some lunch. Hungry?"

Frankie looked pensive and rubbed his stomach. "Oh, yeah," he laughed. "I'm always hungry."

"Like father, like son," Ruby sighed.

~*~*~*~

Sly and Emily held hands as they strolled through the school grounds area that was reserved for the lunch period. Most kids were still inside, battling the system to try to get a dry hamburger or cold French fries to resemble a hearty meal, but they'd finished up quickly so they'd have ten minutes alone.

Sly swung Emily's hand and gave her a shy smile. It still was a miracle to him, a mystery of the cosmic universe, that they'd fallen for each other when they'd been friends for years. Maybe it was the hormones that made her laugh exciting and her eyes take on a warm glow when he spoke to her? Or perhaps Frankie's expert kissing advice had lit a spark between them. Whatever the reason, Sly found he couldn't spend enough time with this girl. "I like being with you," he said out of the blue.

Emily grinned and leaned in to peck him on the cheek. "You're so sweet," she said softly. "I feel good when I'm with you."

Sly nodded and looked off in the distance.

Emily noticed that something seemed to be on his mind and leaped right in to ask. She was never shy about her opinions, and her fresh honesty was one reason that Sly liked her. "What's wrong? Is it Frankie?"

Sly's face saddened. "Isn't it always?"

"What's the matter?"

Sly glanced at Emily as if sizing up her ability to receive less than flattering information and to support him. "Okay," he said, motioning to the same concrete bench he and Frankie had sat on a day earlier. "Something has been bothering me for awhile, and I'd like to get it off my chest. I've spoken to my dad about it, a little, but he's kind of in the middle since Frankie is his son, too."

Emily still held Sly's hand as she looked deep into his eyes. Sly laughed at their intensity. He cupped her head and gave her a big kiss. "All I need to do is look at you for a second, and all my problems fade away."

Emily elbowed him in the ribs and snorted. "But I'm not always in your line of vision. You have to look at Mrs. Humphrey, the home ec teacher, next period."

Sly moaned. "Don't remind me. Man, that woman...she could use some help. It's hard to look at her."

"Maybe it's teaching home economics for thirty years," Emily guessed. "It warped her?"

Sly shrugged and looked down at their intertwined hands resting on his lap. Silence descended on them as he tried to find his next words. "You know my father and aunt and uncle were murdered."

Emily nodded wordlessly as her eyes saddened. They'd both talked about their losses - it was another situation that bound their hearts together and made them understand one another in a unique way.

"Frankie's father had them killed. He was responsible."

"Sly!" Emily squealed as her eyes teared up. "Ohmigosh. That's so...so huge. Omigosh."

Sly nodded and licked his lips as his face darkened. "It makes me so angry," he whispered. "But Frankie is my brother. Here he is mourning this horrible man that ruined my life. He ruined Frankie's, too, but he can't see that yet. My dad said to give Frankie some time to grieve the creep, and I'm trying to, but so many things remind me of what happened. That awful, gaudy signet ring that Frankie insists on wearing. It just reminds me of Frank Smith and everything he was. Rich, ruthless, heartless. I hate him. Why does Frankie have to keep the man in his life? He's dead and good riddance. I'm trying to be nice. I'm trying to understand, but I can't help feeling the way I do." Sly sighed deeply and glanced at Emily from the corners of his eyes. Was this too much for her to handle? Frankie was her friend, too.

Emily's eyes were sad, but she smiled at Sly. He had so many qualities she admired. Here he was in pain over the death of his father, yet he was being nice to Frankie and trying to find a way to cope. Her heart felt warm as she looked at his face and saw the kindness and gentleness that permeated through his pain. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. "I think you have a right to your feelings. Why wouldn't you be angry that your relatives were killed by this man? It's just a horrible coincidence that the man was Frankie's father. It's natural your anger would rub off on him sometimes. But I admire you for holding back and trying to work things out. Frankie's not an easy person to be around. I see how much trouble Maxie has with him. But he needs you and looks up to you a lot. I can tell."

"But I'm worried I'll say something to him to set him off. He's not...well...stable I guess."

"That's Frankie's responsibility, not yours. You worry too much about other people. You matter, too."

"I forget that," Sly admitted. "Maybe I should deal with myself first and Frankie second."

"Sounds good."

"I have some other friends. I should get together with them occasionally. I miss playing basketball with the guys."

"A little distance could work wonders," Emily agreed. She squeezed Sly's hand. "I'm not sure how I'd feel about my brother Jason if his mob activities hurt one of my family members. What would I do if my mom or dad died because of what he did? So far, it works for me to still love him because he's very nice to me, and the mob stuff doesn't spill into our lives. He tries real hard to make sure it doesn't. I don't know. I'm just saying that I can understand. It must make you upset a lot. Not being around Frankie all the time could help sort things out and keep you from saying things to him."

Sly nodded and looked at her with appreciation. "How come you understand me so well? It seems like we share so many similarities."

"It does help if the other person has been there."

A mischievous look crossed Emily's face, and Sly picked up on it immediately. "What?"

Emily giggled and whispered in his ear, "You're cute. Would you kiss me?"

Sly wasted no time in pressing his lips against hers. No matter how many times they kissed, he still felt a thrill run through him. He looked around them and gave her a bear hug when he saw no one was nearby to interrupt. Too bad he was such a straight up guy, or he'd suggest they cut class and take off into the woods.

~*~*~*~

Johnny turned off his cell phone and slumped against his car. He was parked in the hospital parking lot, newly finished with his day's paramedic training where they'd shadowed a few paramedics during their calls. Before entering his car, he'd phoned the bodyguards that Stefan had hired to gather any intelligence they had to offer.

Unfortunately, they'd informed him that Frankie regularly had two tails - some geek in a yellow car and two men in an unmarked, mysterious black car. They only guarded Frankie during the day when he was at school and rehab, leaving the duty of protecting him to his father during the evenings, but they'd recommended a twenty-four hour guard on the kid from here on out.

Johnny was upset at hearing about the black car. It was the same group who'd tailed him before - he was sure of that. And what was this yellow car? Johnny resolved to follow Frankie and look intently for anything yellow that moved on wheels. Then, he'd swiftly move in to identify and possibly crack the head of at least one of the stalkers.

~*~*~*~

In Atlantic City...

Luke craned his neck left and right while walking from the sidewalk where the taxi had dropped them off. He held Alexis' hand tightly in his own, as much for his own reassurance as hers. The sheriff had asked Alexis to meet him at the front of Frank Smith's ruined mansion, and now Luke was getting a first hand glimpse of the madman's playground.

The scene played out like the devastation from World War Two bombings in Europe with sections of the mansion lying in ashes while other parts were entirely intact as if the killing fire had overlooked them on purpose. Most of the woods to the north of the mansion were preserved, but Luke could actually see through the mansion to the ocean beyond; he felt the chill wind that blew off the water and wished he'd taken a jacket with him.

"I don't see any yellow tape identifying a crime scene," Alexis said puzzedly. "This is odd. Why would the sheriff wish to speak to us?"

"You thought Frankie might be in legal trouble?"

"Well, yes. That's the way it's been playing out with the PCPD. Why not the Atlantic City PD? But then, they did say the case was closed and that Frankie wouldn't be charged."

"It used to be quite a place," Luke commented with a finger pointed toward the ruined structure. "I bet it was 30,000 square feet, a virtual castle except it didn't have a moat. I can't imagine growing up in an atmosphere like that."

"It helps to see it," Alexis sighed. "It's easier to understand the hurdles Frankie faces in adapting to his new lifestyle."

There wasn't a porch per se, but a bricked, paved area in front of the mansion, one that would allow a car or limousine to safely drop off personnel. Small shards of charred wood lay here and there, and broken glass was strewn over the pavement. An eerie smell of burnt wood, plastic, fabric and rubber still clung to the air. Luke laid a hand on the doorknob of the massive set of wooden doors, which were still erect by some miracle.

"Maybe we should wait for the sheriff," Alexis cautioned. "The building might be condemned or unsafe."

Luke stepped back and dropped his hand. "Good idea. Let's check around back and see if anyone is here." There was another swath of pavement at the back of the mansion and the remains of many garages that had housed Frank's cars. Two police cruisers were parked there, and several uniformed men walked near the shoreline, talking and pointing at various places on the grounds.

"Hello!" Alexis called out with a hand cupped to her mouth. She waved when her voice caught the attention of one man who waved in return and headed towards them. He was a short man, powerfully built and with the military crew cut he'd never given up. His physique and face spoke of a man who had seen a lot yet who'd retained a gentleness and wisdom that showed in his eyes.

"Sheriff Reicher, I'm Alexis Davis Spencer," she said, holding out a hand when he walked up to her. "This is my husband, Luke Spencer, Frankie's father." The man shook both of their hands and nodded. "We're very curious as to why you wished to meet with us."

"The estate is no longer a crime scene," Sheriff Reicher indicated. "My request to meet with you is outside of a criminal investigation."

"We're relieved to hear that," Alexis said quickly.

"We did find criminal evidence that may directly affect Frank Smith, Junior, however, and I wanted to notify you in person."

"Spencer, Junior," Luke said leadenly.

"Of course," the sheriff agreed. "Let's take a quick stroll in the woods, and then I'll show you a few items in the mansion."

Alexis and Luke followed him wordlessly, but tension and curiosity were building between the two of them. What did this mean for Frankie?

The woods were dark enough that daylight disappeared when they walked within. There was a faint scent of pine and the rustling of squirrels and chipmunks in the underbrush. A bird screeched at them when they walked too close to her nest. Alexis breathed in deeply, yet Luke tensed up as he recalled Frankie reiterating the threats that Frank had made to his son, threats of killing, violence and the woods.

"It's a few paces ahead," the sheriff said. "I was an infantry captain during the Vietnam War," he said conversationally as the trio stepped over logs and fallen trees, trying not to trip or turn an ankle by stepping into a hole in the ground.  "I wouldn't say I'm shock proof, but close to it."

"That's understandable," Alexis replied politely, wondering where this conversation was leading them.

"Believe it or not, there aren't many homicides around here," the sheriff continued. "And I've never handled a serial killer case." He motioned with his hand for them to stop. Luke and Alexis looked down into what appeared to be a long, narrow trench dug into the ground. "This is the first."

Birds sang overhead, and nature continued on her blind, benign course, but Luke and Alexis were feeling anything but normal at that very instant. Alexis held her breath, trying to calm down the rising panic in her gut, but Luke turned numb and cold in reaction and felt like he wasn't even there, that this wasn't real.

"There were twenty-five bodies in this grave," Sheriff Reicher said. "There are two other mass graves further in, which brings the total to sixty-eight bodies. I guess Frank Smith turned lazy or crazy or both for having this so near his mansion. He never expected to get caught. Maybe he had such a string of luck, he thought himself invincible."

"My son, he was afraid...of these woods. He thought he'd be next," Luke's raspy voice uttered. Nothing seemed real to him, not even the sound of his own voice.

"I wanted you to know about this and see it for yourselves. It's unbelievable unless you encounter it personally," the sheriff said sympathetically. "Each of the bodies has been identified, and all of them have ties to the mob - either Frank's or the competition. Our interviews with potential witnesses or anyone tied to Frank Smith's organization convince us that your son was not directly involved with this." The sheriff sighed and removed his hat, rubbing the bristles on top of his head.  "We think Frank Smith had been murdering and dumping bodies here for at least five years given the various states of the corpses we recovered."

The trio walked back out of the woods, and the sheriff hesitated when they came near the mansion again. Luke and Alexis were holding each other's hand in a near death grip, but neither noticed. "How's your son doing?" the sheriff questioned.

"Not well. He received serious physical injuries at this estate, and he's having difficulty recovering from his kidnapper's abuse," Luke said quickly.

"I'd expect so," the sheriff replied. "There are a few things in the mansion you should see while you're here. Information is power, right?" Luke and Alexis looked at each other with panic written all over their faces.

"There's more," Alexis said matter-of-factly, retreating to her lawyer mode of operation in order to protect herself.

"Yes," the sheriff agreed. "Over there is where your son exited the building." He pointed toward the end of the mansion, the side nearest the woods. We found his blood there in a lot of places, on the stairs, through the passageways."

"I was aware of that," Luke said tightly.

"Let's go into the basement," the sheriff stated as he directed them toward the back of the house. "It's safe through this doorway. The structure is sound."

The basement was well-constructed, and although chilly, wasn't damp as one would expect for being located so near the Atlantic Ocean. Luke swallowed hard several times as they walked, but it was no use. It was as if his mouth and throat had permanently dried up with fear on the edge of his frayed nerves.

"Frank Smith had an imagination," Sheriff Reicher said as he stopped in one large room with a series of small doors in the walls. He produced his flashlight so it would illuminate the area as the light bulbs were missing after the recent chaos. "These seem to be holding areas for some of the bodies buried outside in the woods. They must have kept them in here until it was convenient to bury them. Imagine having a virtual crypt in your own house while eating and sleeping nearby. We did find evidence to link these crypts to the murders, and unfortunately, there were two or three leftovers, bodies that had never been buried."

"Why are you showing us this?" Alexis asked tensely, her lips quivering with strong emotion. "We know he was a madman."

"This directly affects your son," the sheriff replied. "Look." He aimed his flashlight at a white wall, and Luke and Alexis were stunned to see a very distinct, small handprint left behind - a dark, brick red, almost brown handprint. "It's the handprint of a child. It's your son's blood - it matches the blood in other locations. His blood is also in the crypt directly above it with a body left behind; it was never buried. There are bloody handprints all over the interior and a small pool of dried blood on the floor." The sheriff's hand yanked open the door much to the horror of his companions.

"I can't look!" Alexis sobbed out, turning toward Luke and grabbing hold of him, burying her face into his chest. "Don’t make me look at it." Luke's entire body was shaking with shock, yet he instinctively clung to his wife to offer her comfort. "His dream, his flashback," Luke breathed out as a light bulb went off in his head. "It must have to do with this...this horror." He laid the side of his cheek on top of his wife's head, and they huddled for a minute as their minds raced.

"I'm sorry," Sheriff Reicher stated as he closed the door. "I thought you should know - to help the kid."

"Yes. Thank you," Luke said. "This helps explain some things."

~*~*~*~

Bobbie discretely sat to the side of the rehabilitation room, with her nose in a women's magazine, giving her nephew his privacy. Occasionally, she raised her head when she heard something curious, but she knew Frankie didn't like people staring at him.

She'd tried to dissuade him from going to his session that afternoon as she knew Luke wanted him to rest and spend some quiet time by himself, but he'd insisted, holding up his bag, which contained his sweatsuit that he usually wore while doing his exercises. She admired his tenacity and desire to heal, qualities appealing to her nurse's heart, so she'd agreed to leave Lucas with the neighbors and take him to his appointment.

Frankie lay flat on his back on a blue mat, lifting his bad leg a few inches off the floor at the instruction of the physical therapist. He held it for several seconds with his teeth clenched and the sweat of his efforts absorbing through his dark purple sweatsuit. His hands gripped on the mat, and he let out a groan when he eased the leg back to the mat.

"Just one more," the physical therapist encouraged. "You're doing well." The therapist had his name, Tony, embroidered onto his red polo shirt, and Frankie had decided that he liked the young man, a wiry, muscular black male in his late twenties. He was upbeat but not sappy, and he didn't try to order Frankie around, but had a way of making firm suggestions that hit the young man just right, not violating his pride or intelligence.

Frankie's eyes bugged as he lifted his leg again. "No...I'm...NOT," he gritted out. "I can't walk." His hands relaxed and his palms eased down to the mat, and he closed his eyes as he struggled to take in deeper breaths.  "Tony," he said tiredly before giving up and remaining silent.

"Your injuries are only several weeks old," Tony explained. "Lifting and holding your leg several inches high is progress. Recovery will come in small steps, not huge leaps."

"I'm a Smith," Frankie muttered. "I leap. Small steps are for chumps." His eyes opened tiredly when he realized his error of statement. "Spencers don't take baby steps," he said to correct himself.

Tony shook his head at the young man in front of him. He was the most aggressive teen he'd yet encountered, a boy who was not at all satisfied to rest on his accomplishments. It was all or nothing for this kid, and that made it difficult to work with him since the program for physical therapy was so different, relying on slow and easy steps. "Most kids would still be in the wheelchair 24/7 if they had injuries like yours. Cut yourself some slack. You're doing fine."

Frankie laughed, first softly and then harder to the point where he began coughing. Didn't this guy realize that cutting yourself slack meant you were dead, that some mob creep would sneak up and stab you in the back or Frank himself would kill you for being a screw-up? He grunted and lifted his leg an inch higher than before, holding it longer than he was supposed to.

When Frankie's leg muscles began to spasm, Tony took his leg down and massaged the muscles until they relaxed. "You did a good job. We're done for today." He stood up and took a pen from his pocket. "I'm going to revise your schedule for exercises, and the amount of time for you to spend on your crutches. Back in a sec."

Frankie made a noise as he turned on his side and attempted to lift himself up from the mat. Bobbie quickly laid down her magazine and walked over to help him. "All done?"

Frankie nodded wordlessly and sat up.

"I should have brought your wheelchair," Bobbie exclaimed. "I forgot you might be too tired to use the crutches after your therapy."

Frankie's face screwed up, and he accepted his aunt's hand to help pull him from the mat. "Forget da wheelchair," he said angrily. "I'm not a wimp." He clenched his teeth and looked away in shame.

Bobbie's lips tightened in response. Frankie was so much like Luke - full of pride and attitude. It was hard to help people like that. Any offers to help were often looked upon as put-downs. She pushed aside her doubts with a cheery exclamation. "Ready to go, sweetie?"

~*~*~*~

"Most of the living quarters are intact," Luke said. "I'm amazed." He and Alexis were exploring the areas of the mansion that were safe to walk through. Both had relaxed markedly after leaving the creepy basement. "Let's find Frankie's apartment. Maybe there are a few items we can salvage and take back with us." All of the doors to the living quarters were rudely flung open and the rooms totally deserted with the close of the federal, state and city investigations. It seemed like a haunted hotel that at one time had housed many people who were now gone, dead, or missing.

"Here it is!" Luke's voice echoed down the hallway. "I'd recognize that furniture anywhere. The kid has consistent taste." Alexis joined him from a few doors down, and both of them entered the rooms silently with their eyes roaming over the apartment. Most of the apartment was intact except for smoke damage that blackened two walls. It still smelled terrible since so much of the mansion had been destroyed, but Luke noted that the closets were intact. "I wonder if some of his clothing can be saved."  He walked into the bedroom and flung the doors open. "Well, I'll be damned," he said in disbelief at the rows and shelves of clothing that were so organized he thought they might be alphabetized. He reached for a sweater and held it to his nose. "It smells smoky, but I don’t see any soot on the stuff. I bet a good dry cleaning would be all it needed."

"He has beautiful clothing," Alexis remarked. She bent down and lifted up a pair of shoes, twirling them around with her hands. "Ah, look at this. It's his lift shoes. Must have made him three inches taller. Boy, he wanted these badly." She looked hard, rifling through the rows of clothing, but she didn't find any typical kid's gear such as sneakers or jeans.

Luke squatted and reached behind some items on the floor. "Found it," he said. "He did have a stash of a few normal things. Must have been hiding them from psycho-dad. He has a few pairs of jeans and a pair of sneakers. A couple of sweatshirts and teeshirts, too."

"Didn't Johnny say he'd bought a few items for Frankie?"

"Yeah," Luke agreed. "At least he had Johnny. The man may rub me the wrong way at times, but I think he saved my kid."

Alexis began taking items from the closet and depositing them on the bed. The bedding was all off, and the mattress askew with well-placed rips and tears in it as if it had been thoroughly searched.  Luke opened a few drawers of Frankie's nightstand and whistled when he held up an extra large sized box full of condoms. "A chip off the old block," Luke teased, ducking when Alexis threw a shoe at him.

"You're such a kid," she scoffed.

"I don't hear you complaining late at night, Mrs. Spencer," Luke shot back.

"No, I don't suppose so," Alexis agreed with a grin. "Do you think we should hire someone to pack this up and transport it all to Port Charles? I'm making a mess."

"I think so," Luke stated with a hand on his hip as he surveyed the room. "This way Frankie can pick and choose what he wants.  I really don't want him coming back to this mansion. In fact, I'm going to suggest to Stefan that it be razed as soon as possible."

"Great. Have him sell the land to a wealthy, foreign oil tycoon - someone who doesn't know the history of the place."

"You're a devious Cassadine, that you are."

"I'm a survivor. I think on my feet."

"Oh, now this is the lap of luxury," Luke's voice rang out from the immensely lavish bathroom, which completed the bedroom suite. "Marble everywhere. I've never seen a shower with so many showerheads. The kid is spoiled - materially that is."

"He'd give it all up to not have lived with Frank," Alexis called back.

"Yeah," Luke answered sadly. "He would."

 &&&&&&&&&&

 ** For the French impaired, a translation:

"You're not angry?" Nikolas finally asked sheepishly.

Stefan's right eyebrow rose in amusement. "Me? Angry? Why?"

Nikolas shrugged. "I don't know."

"You know very well," his father answered formally as he draped his napkin across his lap.

"You know very well that I always do everything you wish!" Nikolas protested.

"Really, always?"

Next chapter...