Chapter Eight
All day workmen arrive at Wyndemere. Stefan has imported the special services of Greek workers and craftsmen – men with no knowledge of English and no desire to wag their tongues. They are paid well for their respectful silence.
Stefan pours over detailed architectural drawings, points at various items with a tense index finger and periodically asks questions of his foreman. Stefan places his hands behind his back and sternly orders, "I need the workers to finish this project in one day. They must work day and night. I will generously reward them with bonuses if they complete this project early." The foreman rolls the drawings and fastens them with a thick rubber band. "As you wish, sir," he nods, his bald head gleaming as he bows while exiting.
The fifth floor west wing hums with energy as hammers pound, trowels scrape over soundproofing and paint brushes glide quickly over newly installed wall board. With part one of his plan in action, Stefan retires to his study to begin part two. "Demetrius, have the uniforms been matched? And the vehicles are ready? Good. Be ready at 6:00AM tomorrow morning. We’ll proceed on my order." Satisfied with the answers given by his henchman, Stefan hangs up the phone and becomes lost in thought, his fingers tented and repetitively stroking his lower lip. His eyes gaze steadily at an intimate portrait of Nikolas, his pride and joy and reason for living. Nikolas’ dark almond shaped eyes are bright and shining with love and laughter. His dark hair frames a sensitive, yet strong profile and handsome demeanor. Stefan reaches for the gold gilt frame, and firmly takes it in both hands. His eyes mist as his right hand gently strokes Nikolas’ cheek in the portrait. "I love you, my son," he says. "Why must you die?"
~*~*~*~
"Don’t die on me, son," Luke whispers as his fingers gently stroke his silent cowboy’s silky hair. "You’re a hero, you know. You saved Nikolas’ life." Luke grimaces at the thought that Nikolas will live, but Lucky might die. It is not an exchange that he is willing to make. This has been the week from hell for the Spencer family. Lucky had been injured multiple times because of the Cassadines and their minions – first Helena, and then Andreas. Helena’s reign of terror had finally ended in a bloody and dramatic fashion, but Andreas is still lurking about. If I find you, boy-toy, you’re dead, thinks Luke grimly as his sad eyes turn again toward Lucky’s still face.
Luke shifts in his chair and holds Lucky’s hand. "Wake up, Lucky. Let me see those blue eyes. Tell me to back off and leave you alone. Yell at me, anything. Just talk to me, cowboy." Luke’s eyes glisten with tears as his words slice through the air but fall back empty. "The docs said that you have a subdural hematoma. I don’t know what that means exactly, but I see you lying here with machines keeping you alive, doing your breathing. You had that operation six hours ago, son. Come on now, it’s time to wake up." Luke waits surrounded in overwhelming silence as the cardiac monitor beeps and the ventilator hisses.
~*~*~*~
Todd Manning lies in another ICU room, still sleeping after his plastic surgery. Andreas’ angry kick to his face had split the tissue on his cheek and opened an existing scar. There is a new bandage on the right side of his face and fresh bandages on his head and back. Unhappily for Todd, the crown of his head had to be shaved to repair the damage to his scalp from Andreas’ rough treatment. He will not be pleased to discover that he now looks like Friar Todd, one of the merry men of yore.
~*~*~*~
Even in death, Helena’s presence lingers like a stale kitchen odor that chokes out the good air with the sulfurous stench of an ancient, rotten egg. How many generations will her secret plots and plans affect? Who can count the number of lives that will be altered and ruined forever? Helena’s cold finger of evil will run down the back of many an enemy and Cassadine for an eternity, and death is no barrier to the execution of her demonic vision.
The evil woman has defined Andreas’ entire life – captive, boytoy, servant, object and purveyor of revenge – he has had no identity of his own until now. Andreas leans his head back on the flat pillow of his Motel 6 king-size bed. He seethes with rage and fury as he mentally reviews his life to date. For twenty-eight years, Andreas and his murdered brother Ari had been pawns in the hand of a rejected, lonely, creatively powerful woman. One pawn was expendable, taken swiftly by the smooth Queen and removed from the board, while the other is more aggressive, the efficient executioner of other pawns, bishops and knights. This pawn, Andreas, had hoped to capture the Queen himself while she was off-guard, preoccupied with other game pieces on the endlessly checked board. But brephos! Brephos had dared to remove the Queen.
"BREPHOS, I HATE YOU!" screams Andreas as he angrily throws his right shoe at the noisy, braying room heater. After the swift administration of shoe-justice, the wayward heater begins humming and purring docilely. Andreas grabs the swanlike neck of the avocado green end table lamp and repeatedly wrings his hands tightly around it, making his knuckles white with the effort. He gnashes his teeth and shakes the lamp furiously, imagining it is Nikolas’ exposed neck. Frustrated, Andreas smashes the lamp into the beige, vinyl textured wall, making the light bulb explode in a bright flash.
Andreas sits on the edge of the bed, head bent and cradled in his shaking hands. He rocks back and forth in despair and misery. "Ari!" cries Andreas. "You never could be good, you never could pretend. Madam didn’t like that. I told you she didn’t like that. Ari, why did you have to leave me? Ari!" Andreas still rocks, sobs emitting from that hollow, hurt place in his chest, the place that Ari used to fill.
*** A five year old Andreas knelt beside the sandbox, burying bugs. Every time a bug would burrow up for air and wave its tentacles trying to escape, Andreas would push it further down into the hot sand with his shovel and giggle merrily. Ari’s eyes filled with tears as he frantically scooped the sand away with his small hands to free the sad creatures.
"Boys!" The starched, blue suited orphanage manager called, waving an impatient hand to the twins. "Come here, now." Andreas and Ari dusted the sand from their hands and solemnly walked over to the two women standing by the front door of the orphanage.
"Boys, this is Mrs. Cassadine. She is our most important benefactor. Now bow and kiss her hand, like you’ve been taught." Andreas stepped up first, his intense brown eyes looking up into Helena’s bemused green eyes. He bowed stiffly and kissed her ring. Helena reached out and stroked his hair, pausing to cup his chin. "You’re a beautiful little boy," she complimented. Andreas smiled and backed away. Ari reluctantly approached the tall, elegant woman. He looked down at his feet, afraid of this imposing person. He hung his head, forgetting to bow or kiss her.
"Ari!" corrected the orphanage manager. "Do as you are told." Ari barely bowed and scooted away before Helena could touch him. Helena’s eyes narrowed, and she wore a cold look on her face.
The orphanage manager spoke again. "Mrs. Cassadine will be visiting you once a month. Isn’t that generous of her, boys?" Andreas and Ari nodded slowly, confused at the attention they were shown. No one had ever visited them before. "I don’t want to be visited," protested Ari, tears filling his big, brown eyes. Andreas kicked Ari hard on the side of his leg. "Behave," he warned, already sensing the stakes of the game at the tender age of five. ***
Andreas reaches for the manila folder on his nightstand. His tan fingers pluck a letter out of the folder and place it on the thin, corded bedspread. He’d read this letter ten times already, but it keeps drawing him back into its nasty web.
~*~
Dearest Andreas,
If you are reading this letter, it means that I am dead, the victim of foul play.
In this folder is a certificate that I am sure will interest you. "Why?" you might ask with your passionate, burning eyes seeking an answer, a motive for revenge.
When I was young, I foolishly gave my heart to a beautiful, gallant man named Mikkos Cassadine. He took my gift and crushed it in his bare hand, squeezing the joy from me. He flaunted his affairs, reveling in his wanton pleasures. I’ve had plenty of time to plot and plan my vengeance. You, dear Andreas, are my greatest revenge. Patience is a virtue, and I look forward to watching the game progress from the comfort of my grave.
What will you do with this knowledge? Will you continue to allow Stefan to confuse the Cassadine family or will you demand justice? Remember my training, Andreas. It will serve you well.
Your beloved Madam,
Helena Cassadine
~*~
A solitary tear slowly trails down Andreas’ cheek and drops onto the letter. Andreas furtively wipes it away with the back of his hand as he returns the letter to the folder. His hand pauses to lightly traces a tiny footprint on the enclosed certificate, and his index finger slowly counts five tiny toes.
~*~*~*~
Alexis, Mac and Kevin walk purposefully toward Nikolas’ room in the locked psychiatric ward.
"I want to ask him about the night that Helena died and determine whether or not he has an alibi," Mac states firmly.
"You can question him for a few minutes, Mac," agrees Kevin. "But you must stop if he starts escalating. It has been very difficult bringing him out of his psychosis, and I don’t want him to be shocked or tired."
"And please keep your questions to the point, commissioner," Alexis reminds tersely with one eyebrow raised.
Mac throws his hands up in the air. "Between the two of you, I’ll be lucky to get one word with him!" Mac shakes his head as Kevin unlocks the door to Nikolas’ room. Two uniformed policemen are stationed at either side of the door.
Nikolas is sitting up in bed with two pillows supporting his back. He is looking down at his folded hands and fidgeting with a hangnail. He doesn’t look up when the visitors arrive. He is very heavily medicated, and his reactions are slow.
Alexis is the first to speak. "Nikolas!" she says brightly as she pulls up a chair beside his bed. Nikolas raises his head slightly and his hooded, brown eyes look over to his aunt. Alexis is startled and saddened by the lack of expression on his pale, drawn face and the deadness in his eyes. "Commissioner Scorpio is here to ask you a few questions," she says carefully.
Kevin Collins watches his patient closely, waiting for his reaction to the situation.
"Okay," Nikolas says morosely as he looks down and resumes picking at his fingers.
Mac glances at Kevin who nods slightly. "Nikolas, did someone come into your room yesterday and assault you?"
Nikolas’ eyes dart to the side, and he answers softly, "Andreas."
Mac continues. "Did he hurt you?"
Nikolas wraps the fingers of his right hand around his throat and gulps. "He…choked me." Nikolas starts trembling with the memory of the black cord tightly laced around his neck, and his eyes fill with tears.
"Did you see Andreas attack anyone else in this room?" asks Mac.
"Lucky and Todd," Nikolas says plainly.
Mac clears his throat and places a hand in his pocket while intently looking at Nikolas. "Can you tell me where you were two nights ago at about 2:00AM?"
"In… the... hospital. Lucky was hurt."
"Were you with anyone at the time?"
"Emily," replies Nikolas, in a barely audible tense voice.
"Nikolas, do you know what happened to Emily?"
"She was sleeping in the lounge. I don’t know, I don’t know," he wails. Nikolas’ cheeks start puffing with rapid breaths, and his face becomes flushed. He claws at the blankets, crumpling them in his tight fists.
"Nikolas, you were found in the morgue with Emily. Why were you there?"
"He…he said I’d find her there were she belonged. Oh God. Oh God. Ohh... aaaahh…Emily! She’s hurt, she needs help. Help her!" Nikolas looks desperately around the room at his visitors.
Kevin leans over to Mac and whispers. "He’s becoming upset. Go easy or you’ll have to stop."
Mac looks annoyed but nods and asks, "You said ‘he’ told you where she was. Who was that?"
"Andreas," sobs Nikolas in a deep, gulping breath. "Andreas."
Now we’re getting somewhere, thinks Mac. "Okay, let’s go back to that night. Did you see your grandmother at the hospital?"
Nikolas’ expression suddenly changes as his facial muscles relax and he takes on a blank appearance. "Who?" he whispers. His eyes glaze over and stop registering the reality around him.
"Your grandmother, Helena Cassadine. Did you see her at the hospital?" Mac suggests.
"I…I…don’t have…. a grandmother," Nikolas sputters, confused.
"Helena Cassadine was murdered the same night as Emily Quartermaine," states Mac intensely. "What do you know about those murders, Nikolas?"
"Commissioner!" interrupts Alexis sharply. "My nephew knows nothing about any murders."
"Mac," warns Kevin. "I think that’s enough for now."
"Murder?!!" shrieks Nikolas. "No! You have to help Emily. She needs help! Save her!" Nikolas jumps out of bed and runs to the far end of the room. He weeps inconsolably. "She’s broken. Fix her," he pleads pitifully with his fingers reaching out as if to close her invisible wounds.
Nikolas turns abruptly with eyes wide open as he sees the image of Helena flashing before him. He rapidly backs up to a wall as if trying to escape what only he can see. Scattered bits and pieces of the night he killed her flood his mind in a confusing mix of sounds, feelings and visual impressions. He screams in pain and claps his hands to his head as he twirls around and bends at the waist. His fingers dig deeply into his black hair, and he grips and pulls it viciously.
Kevin races toward Nikolas, but Nikolas crashes to his knees and falls to his side. He is oblivious to his surroundings, and his blank eyes stare out at nothing and no one.
"Nikolas!" Kevin says loudly. "Can you sit up? Sit up for me now. Nikolas?" Kevin waves a hand in front of his eyes and shakes his head. "He’s disassociated. Help me get him back on the bed. That’s all for now, Mac. He can’t speak to you."
Mac is a bit shaken at this scene, and he reluctantly helps Kevin. Mac rubs his hand over his face as if clearing it of cobwebs. "Man, that’s …I don’t know, Kevin," he states tensely. "We’ll need to question him further, but obviously now is not the time."
"Obviously," repeats Alexis dryly as she glares at Mac.
~*~*~*~
Alexis hangs up the phone with a puzzled look on her face. Why wasn’t Stefan more outraged about Mac’s questioning of Nikolas? He seemed so blasé, like he didn’t care. I don’t understand.
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