Chapter Three
Lieutenant Taggert watches his companion with a wary gaze. When was the last time he’d encountered such lunacy? Taggert shakes his head and rubs a hand over its bald surface. One thing he knows for sure, this is not a "be crazy and get off the murder charge act." When is Scorpio going to finish with those parents anyway? This is getting old fast. They should have left the kid at the hospital instead of dragging him to PCPD.
Directly across from Taggert, Nikolas sprawls awkwardly on a hard, wooden chair. In the space of 45 minutes, Taggert has had to reposition him back onto the chair at least twelve times. One leg is tucked under Nikolas’ hip while the other juts out at an odd angle with a foot that constantly jiggles. He seems to have lost all normal muscle tone. Parts of him twitch while the rest of his body sags as if under an extra heavy gravity force. He repeatedly bobs his head left and right as if in time to a catchy hip-hop dance tune that only he hears.
Taggert’s stomach lurches and he quickly turns away with a sick expression on his face when he notices that Nikolas has started licking the streaks of blood from his exposed skin. First, Nikolas laps the smears from the back of his hand while mumbling and moaning to himself, then next he concentrates on his palm and wrist. He begins sucking on his bloody fingers like popsicles. Not once have his eyes ever met Taggert’s. It is as if Nikolas is in his own little world or hell as it may be. And, when Taggert speaks, it is generally to himself. Even dogs pay more attention to the English language than Taggert’s companion.
"Stop that now!" Taggert commands while he gently pries Nikolas’ arm away from his face. Nikolas makes a lowing sound, half-terrified and half-angry. Abruptly, he bangs his forehead onto the unforgiving surface of the long, polished oak interrogation table. Taggert leaps from his seat in alarm, pries Nikolas from the table and seats him back into his chair. Taggert pulls the chair and Nikolas further from the table so he cannot hurt himself again. Nikolas is now grinning stupidly with a bloody gash in the center of his forehead. His eyes are constantly moving, up and down, around and side to side, never focusing on any one item.
Taggert makes a brief mental review of exactly how many dollars an hour he is being paid for this painful "detective" work. Interrogating Nikolas is like trying to hold a conversation with a carrot or a turnip. Taggert’s eyes flicker sadly as he recalls the proud, aristocratic young man that Nikolas had always presented. This nutcase in front of him is a Greek tragedy.
Lost in thought, Taggert jumps uneasily when Nikolas slides to the floor with a groan. "Not again," sighs Taggert. He kneels beside Nikolas and grabs him by the armpits, trying to drag him once more into an upright position. Nikolas is crying and moaning, and he suddenly leans over to vomit directly onto the top of Taggert’s highly polished wingtip shoes.
Taggert is at his rope’s end. He marches over to the entrance of the interrogation room, flings the door open and bellows, "MAC! COME HERE. NOW!"
Mac turns toward Taggert and when he sees his face, runs over to the interrogation room. "What’s the problem?" he asks.
"This for one," Taggert hisses as he points to his soiled, reeking shoes. "This kid needs to be in a hospital! Call an ambulance and have him escorted OUT of here."
Mac steps to the side and glances around Taggert to a moaning and writhing Nikolas who has by now rolled around in his own mess.
"This kid is totally whacko. He’s out of his mind. Get him out of here," Taggert asserts.
"You may have a point there, Taggert," Mac agrees. "Assign a police officer to Nikolas and have him escorted back to GH. We’ll try to talk to him again tomorrow."
Taggert nods as Mac walks away, but begins grinning evilly. "Detective Gar-ci-a," he calls with a lilt in his voice. Come here. I have a job for you."
~*~*~*~
Lucky stands before Ian with an ashen face amidst the screaming of cardiac monitors – one connection is fastened on each side of his chest. He is wearing his hospital gown as a makeshift shirt hurriedly tucked into the bloody jeans that he had worn on the night he was admitted. He weakly smiles a lopsided grin.
"Lucky, what are you doing with all that gadgetry attached to your body and where is Mr. Manning?" Ian asks sternly. "I just came here to tell you that we were moving you into regular rooms and out of quarantine. Now where is Todd?"
Still facing Ian, Lucky wordlessly points behind him to the open window with the cool breeze blowing into the room. Ian walks over to the window and stares down to the gravel-lined roof with its Toddian decoration. "Well, f**k me," Ian grinds out unhappily. "What is he doing on that roof? How in the world did he fall from this window?"
Lucky just continues to stare at Ian. "Answer me, Lucky," Ian states firmly.
"We were escaping," Lucky asserts.
"Escaping from what?" Ian asks incredulously. "You two are in serious condition in the hospital and receiving the best of care."
Lucky rubs his sore throat. "Someone came into my room and tried to kill me. We had to get away."
"Enough of that!" Ian retorts vigorously, shaking his head. "We need to retrieve Todd off that roof NOW and get him back into the hospital!"
Two nurses come running into the room in response to the warnings from the cardiac monitors. "Take all of the monitors off of Lucky Spencer and transport him to his new room," Ian orders while pointing at robot boy. "I’ll call the Port Charles Fire Department. We have a jumper here that needs rescuing."
Ian returns to the window and sees that Todd is starting to stir. There is a pool of blood under his head, and Ian has no idea what the extent of his injuries is. "Stay put, don’t move," he yells down with a cupped hand. "Help is on its way."
~*~*~*~
Alexis and Luke walk hurriedly into the PCPD, unsure of what emergency is awaiting their attention and tense at the prospect. They are shocked at the scene before them. Stefan and Laura are seated together in front of an angry Mac, and paramedics are loading a bloody, disheveled, thrashing Nikolas onto a stretcher and desperately trying to restrain and sedate him. So far, three good-sized men have not been able to hold him down for any length of time. Stefan’s face is grim, gray and tired looking. Laura has collapsed into a bout of incessant weeping with eyes almost swollen shut from the effort.
"Nikolas?!" yells a shocked Alexis. "What has happened to Nikolas, and why is he here?" Alexis looks rapidly back and forth from Stefan to Nikolas. She places a hand on her hip and walks over to Mac. "I demand to know what is going on here," she says testily.
Mac replies calmly, "Nikolas is under arrest for the murders of Helena Cassadine and Emily Quartermaine. He seems to have suffered a breakdown and is being transported to GH for diagnosis."
"Emily?" asks a saddened Luke with tears in his eyes. "Our little Emily?" He moves over to Laura, kneels before her and hugs her firmly. "Oh, darlin," he says softly. "What’s happened?"
Stefan stands abruptly as the paramedics begin wheeling away a strapped in and sedated Nikolas with a terrified looking Garcia following close behind.
"Sit down, Cassadine," orders Mac, pointing to the chair that Stefan just vacated.
Stefan sits down slowly and reluctantly as his eyes meet Luke’s burning gaze.
"What have you done to my family now, Count," Luke sneers. "When are you all going to fly back to your caves in Greece and leave us humans alone?"
Stefan shakes his head and looks away.
Alexis raises her eyebrows and her eyes bore holes into Mac’s head. "Mac? Why are my clients here? I thought you said that Nikolas was under arrest. If Stefan and Laura are not being arrested, I demand that you let them go. Haven’t they been under enough of a strain?"
"We’re trying to determine the sequence of events, and your "clients" were present at the murder scene," explains Mac.
"I want to talk to Stefan and Laura – alone," replies Alexis. Mac shrugs and motions with his hand to the pair. "Go ahead. You have 15 minutes, then I’ll be back for answers," he adds firmly.
Alexis places a gentle hand on Stefan’s shoulder. "What has happened?" she asks softly. Laura speaks up. "I followed Nikolas to the elevators and down to the morgue. When I got there, Emily was dead on a gurney and Nikolas seemed to be in some kind of shock. He kept…interfering with ...the body," Laura sobs. "I called Stefan in a panic, and when he arrived, Nikolas was on the gurney with Emily and covered with…her blood."
Stefan nods. "Nikolas was in some sort of a daze. I’ve never seen him like that. He was totally unresponsive to my speech."
Alexis looks back to Laura. "How much time transpired from when Nikolas was in the morgue and the time when you arrived?"
Laura shakes her head. "Ten minutes maybe? As long as it took to get another car on the elevator."
"Did you see him with Emily?"
"No," says Laura. "He was by himself. I first saw him run from the second floor men’s restroom, and then I followed him."
"Something doesn’t add up," replies Alexis with a furrowed brow. "He couldn’t have murdered Emily – he didn’t have the time to do it. But then, who killed Helena?"
"What have you involved my wife in now," shouts Luke, suddenly enraged. "I thought I told you to stay away from her!"
"We share Nikolas, Spencer," Stefan explains in an annoyed tone of voice. "We’ll always have that connection."
"The only connection I get is that wherever your family is, there’s trouble. Now your psycho-nephew is involved in some sort of batricide!" Luke moves quickly and takes Stefan in a choke-hold. "For the last time, you stay away from Laura!"
Stefan deftly escapes his hold and thrusts his elbow up, connecting solidly with Luke's chin.
Yelping in pain, Luke draws attention from Mac who runs across the room.
"I’ve had it with you two," Mac says. "You’re spending the day in the slammer. Cuff ‘em," he directs a junior officer who is standing to the side, watching the show.
~*~*~*~
Todd Manning has been lying flat on his stomach for the last half-hour. Ian repetitively moves the tweezers in his hand, picking gravel out of Todd’s head and buttocks, and he regularly drops the pieces of rock with a clinking sound into a metal bowl. Todd never entirely woke up during the ordeal of his high-tech rescue and doesn’t know that a camera crew had been filming the entire operation for the latest real-life emergency rescue television show. The film editors will need to blur the naughty bits that are accidentally caught on camera when Todd was maneuvered onto a stretcher and his gown flapped in the breeze. Now sedated, he is blissfully unaware of his latest humiliation.
Ian had called Tony Jones for yet another neurological consult on his frequently brain-injured patient. Tony walks into the room with his new films of Todd’s skull. "I’ve always wanted to say that a patient has rocks in his head," Tony quips. "Here’s my great opportunity."
Ian chuckles and shakes his head. "If these patients knew how much fun we have joking around, they’d run out screaming."
Todd slowly opens one suspicious eye.
~*~*~*~
Andreas Andropolis sighs contentedly as he exits the hot shower. He reaches for a thin, cheap motel towel. The Motel 6 embroidered logo lies jauntily across his tan, muscular hip. He reaches for the hair grease and slicks the back of his hair into a ducktail, then poufs the front into a shiny pompadour. He dresses in a white, rhinestone jumpsuit and holds a hair dryer to his lips as if it were a microphone.
Andreas has been attending the Elvis convention every night in the bar. He’s grown to love the king. Tonight is the big karaoke competition, and he is determined to win, Greek accent or not. No one can do the king like him. He smiles into the mirror, flashing his perfect white teeth. "Hubba hubba," he says to his image.
Someone knocks at Andreas’ door, and he peers out the peephole. There is a messenger boy standing outside. Andreas opens the door, accepts a certified envelope from the boy and hands him a buck for a tip. He opens the envelope and breaks into excited laughter. Helena has remembered him after all!
Te amo, my sweet radish
Kelly’s little cup of death
Prune face vs. Mr. Buzzsaw
Dueling ambulances