Fallen Angel - TOC

Chapter Seventy-Seven

~ There's another world inside of me that you may never see
There's secrets in this life that I can't hide
Somewhere in this darkness there's a light that I can't find
Well maybe it's too far away, yeah.
Or maybe I'm just blind *

Frankie jumped from the dining room table and generously opened his arms to his stepmother, who enfolded him into an impromptu hug. Alexis' eyes softened, and her heart warmed. She gave Luke a small, delighted smile over Frankie's head. He's so sweet, she thought. He's just been afraid to show it. It felt just right, as if Frankie was hers, and she was his with a meaningful bond forming between them. However, the expression on Alexis' face saddened when she recalled the last two times she'd spent with Frankie in the police station and his fear and anger at being touched by her.

"Thank you, thank you," Frankie murmured with relief, his chin moving against her shoulder.

Alexis ran her hand over his hair and said, "You're most certainly welcome, Frankie. Congratulations on your freedom."

Frankie's eyes darted toward the papers he'd just signed, and his face looked confused and uncertain as he stepped away from her. "I shouldn't have signed dat," he said fearfully.

Silence filled the room, and Luke moved uncomfortably in his seat. "What's wrong?" Luke finally asked.

Frankie shivered noticeably and protectively crossed his arms over his chest. He shook his head and frowned, gazing down at the table and occasionally directing his eyes toward the papers as if he were making sure they were still there. "Something bad is gonna happen," he predicted with a shaky voice. "I can feel it. It's all over me and twisting inside."

"The bad times are over," Luke answered definitely. His blue eyes ran over his son, trying to detect what was up and why the happy moment had passed them by so quickly.

"No," Frankie protested. He pointed toward his signature. "He...he's gonna get me. I ratted Frank out, and he didn't even do it. It's my fault, not his!"

"Frank Smith is dead," Luke stated flatly, his nostrils flaring with rage at the mention of the deceased kidnapper. "He killed plenty of people. He deserves this justice - even if he's not here to receive it."

"I know he deserves it, but I told," Frankie replied tearfully. "Everything is upset inside. My head hurts. I’m scared. I wanted ta do da right thing, but I'm scared. You don't know what he said to me."

"Tell us," Alexis replied as she gently laid her hand on her stepson's arm.

Frankie flinched away in reaction and plopped into a side chair, one of six lined up against the wall. He lifted the dirty sole of his right sneaker onto the white, damask cushion of the chair, causing Alexis to unconsciously wince, and pulled his arms around his knee, bringing it close to his chest. "He said he'd place a bullet in da back of my head and throw me in da woods so da wild animals could eat me, or he'd throw me into da ocean with a block of concrete tied around my neck. Dere were lots of ways he could kill me, dat's what he said. First, he'd cut my tongue out and den my fingers next - so nobody could identify me.  He said dat's why dere were no records - no medical or dental records." Frankie's face screwed up as the pressure built within him in reaction to his memories.  "I'm disposable. He'll kill me." He alternately pulled and smoothed out his hair in a rhythmic motion, as if to soothe himself.

"He can't do that now," Luke repeated. "He's dead. He's not coming back."

"Is he?" Frankie's brittle voice replied. His blue eyes met those of his father's and they stared at each other for a long moment as both internally reflected on what Frank had done to him.

"Yes. You're safe. Johnny, Stefan, and I will make sure of it. You have bodyguards whenever you're in public."

Frankie held out his trembling hands and turned them over to inspect his palms. "I felt da blood, though. Lots of it - all over his body." His voice rose in protest. "You don't know. You don't know what it's like."

"No we don't," Alexis said softly. "But we're willing to listen."

"I can't be happy," Frankie said tensely. "If I feel, um, like okay or good or happy, den bad stuff happens. I can't do it. I won't do it. I can't be happy." He looked like one compact package with no beginning or end, so closely he held his body.

"You have to learn, like anything else," Luke explained. "You'll have to practice. A little at a time. You were happy a minute ago, I saw it on your face," he teased. "The roof didn't cave in. Take it slowly. There's no rush. No one is pressuring you."

"Okay," Frankie said in a small voice as precious relief seeped into his tight muscles and loosened them up. "Just don’t push me."

"No problem," Luke agreed. "Let's watch some TV. We don't have to talk this to death tonight. It'll wait. I'm proud of you, though. You're very brave."

"Really?" Frankie asked with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "You don’t think I'm stupid?"

"Not a chance," Luke scoffed as he rose from his chair. He gestured toward his son. "Come on. The womenfolk can pop us some popcorn. Right, woman?" Luke's eyes twinkled in Alexis' direction, and she stuck her tongue out at her husband.

"Do one thing expertly, and they ask for it repeatedly," she groused.

Luke's right eyebrow rose lasciviously in response, and Alexis chuckled. Frankie watched the interaction between the adults and frowned at the sight. "I’m gonna find something good on TV," he announced, limping off on his own in an attempt to separate himself from their mutual admiration society. Old people, he thought to himself. My dad, he's horny like me. I must get it from him. Only now I don't get none. It's not fair. Damn.

~*~*~*~

~ So hold me when I'm here
Right me when I'm wrong
Hold me when I'm scared
And love me when I'm gone
Everything I am and everything you need
Wants to be the one you wanted me to be
I'd never let you down even if I could
I'd give up everything if only for your good 

Laughter rang through the family room with the mingled sounds of a man, woman and teenaged boy enjoying a silly comedy movie that featured knuckleheaded teenagers and a shaggy dog on an unexpected adventure in outer space.

Luke was seated on the floor in front of the couch, directly in front of Alexis and beside Frankie who was only a few inches away and hugging one decorative pillow with another propping up his leg.  Luke looked at his watch when the commercial break interrupted the movie. "When is Sly supposed to be home?"

"Nine o'clock," Alexis answered. "He's having dinner and studying with his friend Tim after the game."

"It's quarter after nine," Luke complained.

"Give him a break," Frankie said lightly with an elbow nudging at his father. "Maybe dere was traffic or somethin'."

Luke shrugged. "You're saying I’m a hardass?"

"If da shoe fits," Frankie teased.

Luke held up a foot and turned it back and forth. "So now my feet are too big?" he asked in a silly voice. Frankie held his much smaller foot up next to Luke's and nodded. "Yep. Dey're too big. You haven't been scaring da villagers again, have ya? You're not dat Bigfoot dude?" His eyes brightened with the teasing banter that he so enjoyed with Luke. It made him feel closer to his father without actually saying the needful words out loud, words like love and affection.

Luke reached out his hand and playfully ruffled Frankie's hair. "You're a brat, that's what you are."

"But I do it so well," Frankie replied with mock pride as he smoothed his hair back down.

"Okay, you two," Alexis interrupted. She picked up the remote and turned off the mute button. "The movie is back on."

"Partypooper," Luke muttered as he looked at his son with the humor of an upturned smile.

Frankie yawned and inched closer to Luke, leaning against his father and resting his heavy head against his shoulder. Luke lightly held his arm around Frankie, amazed and pleased that Frankie wanted to be so close to him.  "Tired?"   he asked, ignoring Alexis' request for silence.

"Yeah," Frankie admitted. "Rehab was a bitch today."

Alexis reached out her foot and lightly poked Frankie in the back.

"Rehab was difficult," Frankie corrected himself as he rolled his eyes at his stepmother's insistence on clean language and clean living. He had to watch his every step as four letter words came as easily to him as breathing and sleeping. But, it was kind of nice to have someone looking out for him, so he tried to compromise. It made him feel comfortable and safe in a way he couldn't describe.

"If you push too hard, you'll hurt yourself," Luke said worriedly. "I wouldn't want to see your progress set back."

"I took drugs for da pain," Frankie explained. "But it's wearing off now, and I'm stiff and sore. Da rehab guy, Tony, he's happy with me." He sat up abruptly when the pretty, blond teenaged girl's face filled the TV screen. Frankie pointed toward the TV and exclaimed, "She's not as cute as Maxie. Maxie would be a better actress dan dat!"

"Is Maxie interested in acting?" Alexis asked curiously. She rolled the popcorn bowl toward her to obtain the last few decent kernels left in the bottom, and she crunched them contentedly.

"Are you cracking nuts back there?" Luke jested at his wife.

Alexis responded by knocking him on top of the head with the bowl. "You're the only nut around here," she said with her characteristic dry humor.

"Maxie told me she's been in a few school plays," Frankie explained.

"Are you going to bankroll her first movie?" Alexis teased.

Frankie turned to look at Alexis and grinned. "Good idea," he said as he leaned back against his father. "Maybe dat's my next career. You never know. Can't keep me down for long, haha."

"Don’t encourage this scoundrel," Luke said, joining in on the joke. "I recall a certain videotape that was confiscated not so long ago."

"I forgot about dat," Frankie laughed. "All da best movies are R rated."

Luke rapped his knuckles on top of Frankie's head. "Forget it, Junior."

Frankie pushed away Luke's hand. "Don't call me dat. I hate dat. Sounds like some farmer dude. You're crazy."

"Okay, Junior."

Alexis nudged her stepson. "Don’t encourage him, Frankie. Let it die and you might have a chance of never hearing that word again."

"Do you like it dat I have your name?" Frankie asked shyly, wondering what his father would say. "I know you don't like da name Frankie, though."

"I absolutely love it that you have my name, and I'm thrilled you're back in my life," Luke responded immediately. "If you come in a Frankie package, then that's fine with me, too. I'm grateful that you're alive. That's my main feeling."

"I'm glad, too," Frankie stated. "I wasn't at first. I wanted to die, um, after..." His voice trailed away, and he was afraid to bring up the subject of Frank Smith again. It seemed to haunt them continually, pulling down the mood of everyone around him.

"I'm sorry I was so mean to you when you showed up at the bar," Luke said seriously. "It was wrong of me to act like that no matter who you were."

Frankie laughed mirthlessly. "I was dead den, da walking dead."

"Not quite."

"Not quite," Frankie agreed. "I guess dat's what counts. I need to get up," Frankie said with a groan. "It's da leg." He struggled to his feet with the help of a push from his father. "Ow," he said when he tried to put weight on it. "Crap." His eyes met Alexis.' "I'm tryin'. Is crap a bad word?"

"Not bad," Alexis explained. "Just not as sophisticated as you're capable of being."

"I’m sorry. It's gonna take me some time. I can't change overnight." Frankie waved his hands around him. "It's like da whole universe exploded, and now I'm on a different planet, only I can't speak da language."

"You're doing fine," Luke said as he rose from the floor with a few creaks of his own. He reached out and shook Frankie's hand. "We'll work on it together."

"Yeah," Frankie stated with some surprise at Luke's gesture. "Dat's nice."

"Ready for bed?" Luke asked Alexis as the two silently communicated that they wouldn't be sleepy for at least another hour.

"Sure," Alexis responded. "Frankie, are you staying up?"

Frankie shook his head. "I got some things ta do in my room. Homework and stuff."

"I'll leave the light on for Sly, then."

"He'd better get his butt home pronto," Luke warned.

"Curfews are rules," Frankie said.

"And rules aren't meant..."

"...to be broken..." Frankie finished for him. "Give him a break. What's half an hour?"

"Rules," Luke grumbled several times as he followed his wife out of the room, leaving his son shaking his head.

"Hardass," Frankie said definitely as he reached for his crutches.

~*~*~*~

Sonny muttered curses to himself as he hobbled down the dark, empty street, keeping his eyes peeled for cars that might contain Johnny. He'd parked his tiny yellow car a mile away from Smith Junior's house in hopes of avoiding detection, but the walk was hell. He hadn't exercised much in recent years, and his cheap, vinyl sneakers and thin socks reminded him of the blisters dotting his delicate skin, not to mention his missing toe. He had no intention of letting go of his revenge fantasies, which took hold of his brain and twisted his motivations until killing the kid became his number one desire in life, second to sex. Number two would have to wait until later.

Sonny had spotted the patch of woods lining the back property of Smith Junior's house on one of his earlier cruises around the block several days before he'd been spotted by Johnny. He patted his bulging pocket and the pistol contained within. The only thing better would be a rifle for firing at long range, but he knew that the kid was often outside. He'd seen him heading for the woods several times when he had the house under surveillance, and wouldn't it be a merry surprise to greet the brat with a gun pointed in his face?  Sonny couldn’t wait, and he cackled with glee. His voice rang out into the night, to the result of several agitated dogs in nearby houses starting a barking contest.  Porch lights turned on in a house beside him, making Sonny shrink back into the prickly bushes lining the sidewalk. He remained still until the homeowner was satisfied his home wasn't being invaded and retreated back into the house.

When he set off again, Sonny found that his black jacket was gripped by the prickly bush, and he yanked and pulled until a hole ripped in the fabric. "Dammit!" Sonny shouted harshly into the wind. The porch lights turned on one more time, and Sonny found himself back in the prickly bush, wondering if he'd ever get to Smith's house. It was bad enough that he wasn't decked out in his expensive silk suits and Italian loafers, but now his cheap, discount garments were sustaining significant damage. His stomach rumbled with hunger, and when he held his hand to his midriff, Sonny noticed that he was getting a paunch from all of the hamburgers he was downing these days and the lack of physical movement, holed up in his tiny car for hours on end and living in a two room apartment with only three pieces of furniture and a big screened TV.  Gone were the days of luxury, continental menus and beautiful décor - Sonny's budget had taken a permanent nosedive.

A streetlight cast itself over Sonny's head, throwing his shadow across the street. The shadow jerked when he kicked a stone out of his way and then hopped up and down when his missing toe protested the jarring motion. Sonny held his foot stiffly now, walking only on his heel and looking remarkably like Frankie trying to limp without his crutches. This subtle irony was lost to Sonny's literal mind, and his pain only fueled his thirst for revenge.

Finally, Sonny reached the woods and clumped through the saplings and bushes, sending chipmunks and squirrels chattering into the underbrush, cussing him out in their own, unique language. I hate animals! Sonny thought. This nature stuff is crap. Give me the city life. I can't believe I’m doing this. I ought to storm into that house, grab Smith Junior and blow his brains out. He sat down on a tree stump and bent a tree to one side so he could get a clearer view. Lights were on, and occasionally, he could see the silhouetted movement of persons walking from room to room through the thin fabric of the curtains. He glanced at his watch. They might all be in bed within two hours. That was a long time to spend in this crummy patch of woods, but the payoff would come when he climbed into the back window of Frankie's bedroom and finished him off - that is, if the kid didn't present himself outside. Sonny's hand stroked his pistol, reveling in its firm, lethal coolness. He could be on a plane and in Paris by tomorrow. His dimples showed as he grinned wickedly. This would be sweet.

~*~*~*~

~ Part of me is fighting this, but part of me is gone...

Frankie paced the best he could, limping back and forth in his room and flexing his hands, trying to reach a center of calm amidst his internal storm of worry and fear. Luke may have told him he was safe, but he knew he wasn't. Nothing worked out for him. He had proof. His whole life was proof, wasn't it? He always had to be on his guard and take care of himself. No one else would do it for him.

Frankie opened his desk drawer and dug through a pile of papers to one of his hidden pistols. He'd hidden two in the house, one in the garage and one under the deck outside. He checked the bullets, satisfied that it was loaded and ready to go. Holding the gun up, he lined his sights and stiffly moved his arm back and forth as if practicing taking out multiple assassins. His finger itched to pull the trigger for some reason, as if he needed to discharge the gun to capture and subdue the insistent fear invading his entire body.

Frankie walked over to the window and used one finger to push aside the blinds. He gazed out into the inky darkness and shivered at the sight of the woods hundreds of yards away. Why did Luke have to give him the bedroom that faced those woods? It was the most vulnerable room in the house, subject to invasion at any time and with the cover of the large back yard, not in view of the streets. He sighed and looked around. His room was larger than Sly's. Luke had probably given it to him in recognition of his age. Maybe he could talk Sly into switching. Sly liked nature, and maybe he'd like those trees. No one was after Sly - it was him they wanted to kill and maim.

Rubbing his hand over his face, Frankie sighed and sat down on his bed. When is it gonna end? I'm so tired. I don't wanna go on like dis. Maybe I should just blow my brains out. He turned the pistol back and forth in front of his face. Too messy. Alexis might be scared if she saw me. He jammed the butt of the pistol repeatedly into his leg, bruising his thigh muscles, but not noticing as he used the driving rhythm to help him distance from his racing emotions. Nobody believes me. Something bad is gonna happen, and it'll be my entire fault because of dose papers. Tears built up in his eyes at the futility of his situation.

His eyes lit on his laptop, which was placed on top of his desk. I'm glad Dad didn't let me bash it up da other night. Dat was stupid. Frankie placed the pistol into his pocket and opened his computer, intent on emailing Maxie and feeling relieved even with the thought. Maxie always made him feel better. She was sweet and smart at the same time and her words usually hit him just right, providing him with the comfort and encouragement he needed.

~&~

Maxie,

I'm in the clear now, with the police. Maybe your stepdad told you already? Anyway, that's good, but I can't shake a bad feeling I have. It's like there's a black cloud over my head. Nothing might happen, but if it does, I wanted to tell you I love you and thanks for believing in me and sticking up for me. 

You're my first girlfriend, and I don't ever want another one. You're perfect to me! I know, I can hear you say that's not true, but it is for me. I'll never forget kissing you - you're real good, too. You didn't need a lot of practice, you got it just right. (You'd better delete this after you read it - haha. Don’t' want you in trouble - only with me - haha again). I don't want to die without holding you in my arms - us lying naked together in bed <grin>. Don't get mad at me. I can't help it. <grin> Okay, I can't stop smiling. Can I give you a kiss for ten minutes straight next time I see you? I'll set the timer on my watch and everything, haha.

Maybe your parents will let us go to the last school dance in a couple of weeks? Do you want to go with me? I'll get my tux and everything and give you a flower. I bet you'd be beautiful in a fancy dress. If they won't let us, we'll have to think of another way to meet up at the school. (Remember to delete this!!).

I love you, Maxie. You're my best and only girl. I feel better typing this.

Frankie

(aka Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior - that's how I signed those papers).

~&~

Frankie closed his laptop after sending the email and paused when he heard the front door open and close. I'd better tell Sly dat Dad was miffed so he can have his story straight for tomorrow morning.

~*~*~*~

"Here you go." One man in black handed the other a cup of Starbucks coffee, slipped behind the wheel in the driver's seat and slammed shut his door.

"We shouldn't have gone to get coffee," his companion complained as he accepted his steaming cup. He held it to his mouth and took a brief drink. "Mmmm. But this is good. I thought I'd go crazy if we sat there for a second longer."

"Surveillance is a bitch," the other man agreed. "I'd much rather be engaged in something active."

"Like assassinations or kidnappings?" his partner laughed. "That stint in the Navy Seals did you no good. You're always hyped."

The other man's face colored, and he twirled his coffee cup in his hand and reflected that he'd only lasted two years in the elite forces as he'd had difficulty following orders. This stint in the underground agency was starting to stifle his creativity as well. Maybe he'd be better off hanging his own shingle, calling his business something like Mayhem Incorporated. "Those Spencers are boring - popcorn poppers and TV watchers. And when is that kid going to take another drink? This sure feels like a dead end."

"Maybe he's in the woods as we speak."

"One could only hope."

"We'd better get back just in case."

~*~*~*~

Frankie used one crutch as a cane and approached the living room where he'd heard the front door opening and closing. No one was in the area, and he instinctively headed to the kitchen as that was Sly's favorite place since he was a one man eating machine.

Sly was leaning against the counter munching on a hastily made turkey sandwich with his sports gear in a black bag lying at his feet. He was so busy inhaling the food he didn't notice someone was approaching behind him, and he jumped with a muffled exclamation when Frankie tapped him on the shoulder. He swallowed several times and frowned at his brother. "Don’t sneak up on me! I almost choked on my food."

"Dat's a lot of food," Frankie said sarcastically. "Didn't dey feed you at Tim's house?"

Sly colored and turned away. "Yes," he said. "Now I'm hungry again."

"Too much basketball playing," Frankie guessed.

"Whatever," Sly replied with the phrase he'd picked up from his brother. He sniffed distractedly and continued to ignore Frankie since he was still miffed by Frankie's behavior at breakfast, not to mention the elaborate cold shoulder display at lunch, when Frankie had sauntered past Sly's table without even a glance.

"Dad was pissed at you," Frankie informed him. "He was mad you weren't home when you said you'd be."

"What are you? The messenger?" Sly crabbed.

Temper flared up within Frankie, and he said in a neutral, disinterested tone, "Hey, I'm warning you so you get your story together when he asks you."

"And you'd be the expert, wouldn't you? At making up stories, that is."

"Better dan you, dat's for sure."

"You're better at everything, aren't you?"

"Not basketball," Frankie said tersely as he turned away. The dining room light was still on, and Frankie entered the room, not aware that Sly was following him. He noticed that the signed papers were gone, probably packed into Alexis' briefcase to drop off at the police station the following morning, and likely already faxed there to Mac Scorpio's attention. He limped over to the table and picked up the large, gold ring that still lay there. He'd forgotten that he'd removed it earlier. Turning it around in his hand, he wondered what he should do with it now. This part of his life was over, and he didn’t want to return to his life of crime or be bothered by reminders.

"What's the deal with that ring?" Sly's voice asked harshly.

It was Frankie's turn to jump and he laid the ring back down on the table. "My father gave it to me when he made me his number two man," Frankie explained without emotion. "After tonight, I'm giving up the ring."

"Why? What's special about tonight?"

Frankie turned around and faced his brother, looking him straight in the eye. "I signed some papers implicating Frank Smith in da gangland killings here in town, the ones they were harassing me about. It's over. I'm in da clear. I'm free - for good."

"That easy, huh?"

Frankie looked at Sly with confusion as he couldn't decipher where the attitude was coming from. "It wasn't easy," he said firmly. "It was hard."

"Hard to give up a murdering father?" Sly questioned.

"Yes. I guess."

Sly stomped off, leaving Frankie bewildered. "I need a drink," Frankie said out loud to no one. He headed for the glass doors that lead to the patio and beyond that, the woods.

~*~*~*~

Sly was in his room, but he heard the doors open and close and the clumping sound of Frankie's crutches on the wooden deck. Bastard, he thought peevishly. He's in the clear, like nothing happened, and no one cares about me or my dad. It's all about him. Sly walked over to his bookshelf, and pulled out the photo album that Laura had prepared for each boy in the extended family. He turned to the page where a young, healthy Bill Eckert was holding him as a baby and showing the camera a huge smile filled with love and delight in his only son.

Sly slammed the pages shut and left his room with a determined look on his angry face while carrying the album in his tense hand.

~*~*~*~

Frankie couldn't summon up the energy to walk the length of the yard to the woods beyond. It was hard walking in grass where his crutches sank into the soft, spring soil. It was loads easier on hard pavement. He'd laid his crutches on the deck beside him and was leaning against the deck railing with folded hands, breathing in the fragrant night air and actually enjoying being outside by himself. He couldn’t understand Sly, but he gave it up and let his mind go blank, which seemed to relax him.

"Hey!" Sly said angrily, interrupting him with a slam of the door.

"Go away," Frankie said flatly without even turning around.

"You're going to listen to me!" Sly said loudly as he placed a hand on Frankie's shoulder, turning him around harshly.

"Don’t do dat again," Frankie warned. "I said, go away." He noticed that Sly seemed to be boiling away with anger, and in fact was far angrier than he'd ever seen him. "What's eating you?" he said sarcastically.

"You are!" Sly yelled with a pointed finger towards his brother. Luke and Alexis' master bedroom was separated from the boys' bedrooms, and not close to the back of the house. They were clueless to the unfolding drama.

"Me?" Frankie chuckled knowingly with a thumb pointed toward himself. "You need to get a life. I never did nothin' to you."

Sly pushed at Frankie's chest with the photo album, causing the boy to stumble. "Your FATHER did plenty to me."

Frankie's face screwed up. "What are you talking about? You never knew Frank."

Sly huffed and puffed and pushed at Frankie again, causing his brother's temper to rise as well. "Your father KILLED my father AND my aunt and uncle," Sly retorted with a steely voice and flashing eyes illuminated by the floodlights surrounding the deck.

Frankie shifted uneasily, moving away from Sly. "No way. How's dat?"

"Business deal gone wrong," Sly responded with his teeth clenched. "Two years ago, my whole family was killed because YOUR father wanted them out of the way. That's why I'm with Luke. He was the last family member, the only one who could take me in."

"Luke never said nothin' to me about dis," Frankie scoffed.

"It's all about YOU!" Sly shouted angrily. "I was supposed to keep quiet so your precious feelings wouldn't get hurt. So you could grieve! The hell with me or what I needed!"

An uneasy feeling began washing over Frankie, a feeling almost like déjà vu or a wisp of a memory that refused to surface. He swallowed several times, but his throat was still dry. "I didn't know about dat," he whispered. Sadness fell on him, draping him and threatening to pull him under. "I didn’t know..."

"Look," Sly said with newly manic energy. "Look at who he killed." Sly thrust the photo album into Frankie's face with the widely open page only inches from the boy's widening eyes. "BILL ECKERT! MY father, a good man. He didn't deserve to be killed. Frank Smith did, but not my dad." Tears were starting to flow hotly down Sly's cheeks as he could never stop the waterworks when his temper was this high. His whole body was reeling with the hot emotions of anger, revenge, and jealousy tinged with sadness.

Frankie's eyes were fixed to the man's face in the photo. He looked so much like Luke, but there were important differences that distinguished the two men from one another. Each time he attempted to look away, his muscles refused to cooperate and rigidly held his gaze in place. "Ahhhhh..." he breathed out in a keening sound that could only be described as panic and despair. He didn't see the photo album, the deck, the outside or Sly anymore as his vision wavered and then blanked out the present reality. He was now back in Frank's mansion, two years ago, after being beaten and humiliated by Frank and his whore Cathy.

<<<What kind of a son are you? I told you to execute them. What did you do? You let them go.>>>

<<<I don't like killing people. It wasn't necessary. Honest.>>>

<<<You do as I tell you. No questions, no lip, no thought. You are my creation, so you do my bidding. You do it!>>>

Sly saw the blank look in Frankie's eyes and wondered what was going on. Frankie was making noises, and it was giving him the creeps. A chill went up his spine when Frankie said in a distant voice, "I don't wanna do it, Dad. I don't like killing people. Don't make me do it."

Frankie's eyes refocused and looked back and forth from the photo album to Sly's enraged face. "No, I can't look," he said, trying to back up with fear splashed all over his face and his hands held up to protect him. "Don't make me look. I didn't wanna kill him. I’m sorry, I'm sorry. Oh God, make it go away."

Sly's mouth hung open in shock as he finally realized what was going on. Frankie remembered killing his dad! It was Frankie's doing, not Frank's. "YOU!" he shouted. "You did it!" His tears dried up as anger and violence took over his motivations. He threw the book onto the deck and grabbed Frankie by the neck, throwing him away from him in disgust.

Frankie stumbled but didn’t fall. He moved slowly like he was in shock and not totally aware of what was happening.

Sly pulled back his fists and began pounding on Frankie as all of his anger, fear and grief over the last two years emerged with the tremendous force of contents under pressure, finally aimed at a flesh and blood target. Frankie flew back onto his rear when Sly hit him square on the jaw, much like Frank had done in years past. This time, Frankie's loose bottom tooth finally gave up the ghost and he spit it contemptuously onto the ground along with a flurry of blood.

With a growl of survival, Frankie tackled Sly, forcing his brother down on the deck, and the two rolled around and around, pummeling each other anywhere they could land a fist. Sly turned his face away, and Frankie brought it back into his punching zone with a harsh yank on his hair. A tuft of blond hair remained in Frankie's fist when Sly suddenly kicked up and placed a hard foot in Frankie's midriff. Frankie fell back with a groan, but pushed himself upright with the fight still in him and the desire not to lose. He drew back his good foot, soundly kicking Sly in the ribs. Sly yelped but reared up on his knees and pushed Frankie with all of his might.

Frankie twisted around with his arms straight out and fell as his feet became tangled in the two crutches that lay on the deck behind him. He fell forward with the velocity of his full weight colliding onto the rail of the deck. There was an awful banging sound when his chest absorbed the hard force of the blow, and he soundlessly slid down to the floor of the deck and lay motionless on his side.

Sly felt his sore nose and jaw with his fingers and wondered if something were broken, moaning and rising up to his feet to see what the damage was. When Frankie didn't move or make a sound, he cautiously limped over to his brother and pushed him with his foot, causing Frankie to roll slightly from his side to his back, his right hand limply falling beside him.

Frankie's eyes were half open, but they looked glazed with pain. Sly noticed that he was having trouble breathing, as if he were using all of his muscles in his chest and neck to draw in a breath. "What's wrong with you?" Sly asked, coughing after he spoke and tasting the blood in his mouth. He wiped at his nose and winced at the red trickle that stained his fingers.

Frankie didn't reply but moved his hand to his chest and grimaced, attempting to move up from the deck but failing miserably. Sly could now hear the audible strain of his brother trying to bring enough oxygen into his lungs. "Okay, okay," he said abruptly. "I'm getting Mom and Dad." He turned and hurriedly made his way into the house as Frankie began rocking back and forth in agony.

~*~*~*~

Sonny was in his element, full of glee at the spectacle in front of him and content that he'd found Smith Junior's stash of beer in the woods. Who knew how deviant the kid could be? He sure was smart, though, thinking to hide the beverage in the cool stream, almost as cold as a refrigerator. There were five cans left, and Sonny had selected the first one his hand grasped - the second one on the right.

At first he'd tried to line up his pistol to take out Smith Junior at a distance, but his shooting sucked and he knew it. He'd have to obtain a high powered rifle to bag the kid. Shooting a pistol would only make noise and draw attention to himself. Maybe his backup plan of entering the kid's room later on and blowing his brains out as he slept would be adequate. For now, Sonny was content to watch the brothers fight with a tenacity of professional boxers or wrestlers. It was too funny. Too bad one of them got hurt. He couldn't tell who - it was too dark. Sonny could spend all night watching them duke it out. He drank deeply from his beer and burped merrily. He held his hand to his mouth. Oops. Hope nobody heard that.

~*~*~*~

"Mom, Dad! Come quick, it's important!" Sly shouted as he hammered repeatedly on his parents' bedroom door.

"What in the world?" Luke asked as he opened the door wearing only the bottom of his pajamas and a pair of slippers.

"It's Frankie. Something's wrong," Sly said breathlessly.

Luke surveyed his younger son's appearance and snorted. "What's wrong with you? Did you two have a fight? You look beat up." He still wasn't concerned as Sly sometimes got worked up over nothing. What brothers didn't occasionally fight?

Sly held his hand to his nose. "I think my nose is broken. Yeah, we were fighting. I yelled at him about Frank killing Bill, and then it became clear that Frankie was the one who ordered the killing. He freaked out and was mumbling to himself. I lost it and started punching him."

Luke's face flooded with concern and he looked beyond Sly. "Where's Frankie?" he asked with a tight voice.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, Dad! He fell, and he might be hurt. He's not moving much, and he's breathing funny."

"ALEXIS!" Luke called out over his shoulder. "Come on, we've got some hurt kids here."

"You are so in trouble," he said sternly to Sly as he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and shook him slightly. "I told you not to say anything to him yet. You know he has that disorder. What were you thinking?"

Sly's face fell. "I know," he said softly as he bent his head low. "But what about me? Nobody cares how I feel."

Luke wrapped his arm around his son, and his expression softened. "I care how you feel, you know that. You're my bestest and brightest. I've always told you that."

Luke walked back into the bedroom and retrieved a ratty old sweatshirt that he pulled over his head. "Let's talk to Frankie and get to the bottom of this. Maybe he has an explanation." Luke hadn't accepted that Sly might be right, that Frankie could be responsible for Bill's death and in terrible trouble right now. Luke gripped Sly's chin between his fingers and inspected his son's face. "Yep. I think it's broken, Sylvester. What makes me think there's a trip to the emergency room here? Are you okay? You're not hurt anywhere else?"

"Come on, Dad," Sly said with annoyance as he pulled at Luke's arm. "We're wasting time. I told you Frankie was hurt. Let's go!"

~*~*~*~

"Ohmigod!" Luke said when he stepped onto the deck and saw Frankie sprawled with the floodlights highlighting his son's agony.

"I tried to tell you!" Sly said loudly. Alexis followed them with her clothes thrown on in a hurry. She stepped behind Sly and gently rested her hands on his shoulders.

Luke knelt beside Frankie and inspected him, running his hands over his head to look for knots or signs of concussion and checking on his bad leg. Frankie looked beat up, much like Sly did, but something very serious was obviously affecting him as he was only semi-conscious, anxious and in great pain. Luke gulped and became immobilized for a few seconds, but then shouted as his brain reactivated. "Get the SUV, Alexis, please hurry! We can get him to GH faster than if we call 911."

"Why is he bleeding from the mouth?" Luke questioned Sly.

"His tooth fell out."

"Shit," Luke muttered. "Are you having trouble breathing, Frankie?" he asked when he noticed the strained sounds and the gripped muscles in his son's neck.

Frankie's eyes fluttered open and then closed as he barely nodded his head. "Hurts," his gravelly voice said so softly that it could barely be heard. His face screwed up when Luke tried to move him. "Aw, Dad, nooo..."

"Okay," Luke said quickly. "I won't move you until Alexis pulls the SUV around back. But we need to take you to the hospital."

Frankie moaned and then coughed hard, rolling onto his side and curling up. Luke's heart raced when he saw the bright red blood that poured from his son's mouth. "That's not from a missing tooth," he exclaimed with a cracked voice. His eyes filled with tears. "Oh god, oh god," he said in a panic. "SLY! Go into the house and bring out some towels."

Luke scooped Frankie into his arms and carefully carried the boy to the SUV as soon as he saw it parked in the driveway. Frankie's head lolled against his arm, and he could hear the choked, blood filled sounds of the boy softly crying, "Daaaaad." Sly ran up behind him, offering three towels that he'd quickly pulled out of the linen closet. Luke laid Frankie on his side, placed a towel beneath his face and scooted beside him in the back seat. "Get in the front," Luke directed to Sly.

Alexis turned her head, "Luke?" she questioned. "How is Frankie?"

Frankie cried out when he coughed again, and Luke noted that the towel under his face was becoming saturated with blood. "Alexis, burn rubber! He's hurt real bad."

Sly huddled by the door in the front seat of the SUV, crying with fear and shame, as well as pain from his own injuries.

~*~*~*~

Sonny blinked his eyes repeatedly, but his vision wouldn't clear no matter what he did. Objects took on a psychedelic glow with trees turning purple and the Spencer house emitting wavy red and orange flames. Sounds became distorted as well, and a small squirrel rustling in the leaves took on the threat of a saber toothed tiger after his prey. Sonny cupped his hands over his ears as his heart raced with fear. They're coming to get me, he thought with paranoia that increased with each passing second. I've gotta get outta here! The space invaders are here! Everything's red and purple and orange! They're going to kidnap me and take me to their spaceship and do medical experiments on me! Help, HELP! Jaaaaaasoooonnnnn!!!!

Sonny shot out from the woods only seconds after the Spencer SUV furiously backed out of the driveway. He ran wildly, swaying from side to side with his arms dragging beside him and emitting a piercing scream that increased in volume as he ran. The whole neighborhood was filled with the sound that resonated eerily like a large cat in heat.

~*~*~*~

"They're on the run," the man in black said with excitement as he pounded the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. "Kid must have drunk the beer. Bingo! It's payoff time."

"Follow behind but not too closely," the other man instructed. "We don't want to be discovered."

The driver turned the black Cadillac's ignition and pulled away from the curb.

"What's that weird sound?" his companion asked worriedly as he looked out the window so he could discover the source.

The driver diverted his attention to his companion and failed to see the screaming man running straight for his car.

BOOM!

The black Cadillac clipped Sonny's legs and sent him flying up on the hood of the car, still screaming "Space Aliens!" at the top of his voice as if he didn't notice he'd been run over.

The driver slammed on the brakes, and Sonny slid squeakily down the length of the hood until he plopped soggily onto the ground beside the car. The driver looked at his companion in bewilderment and asked, "What now?"

"Throw him in the back. We'll dump him in the bushes when we arrive at GH. Hurry up! We're losing Smith Junior!"

*  lyrics from 3 Doors Down, "When I'm Gone"

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