An obnoxious buzzer rings as the guard opens the door for Carlotta. She steps into the small room where people come to visit their imprisoned family members, loved ones or friends. And as she pulls out one of the chairs and sits down, she realizes that Roseanne is none of those anymore...not family, not even a friend. She lets out a long sigh at that, clutching her purse tightly, fidgeting. She looks up at the thick panes of glass, separating her from the other side, where Roseanne would be in a minute...and wonders...
...god...how did we get here...how the hell did this happen...?
She suddenly remembers Roseanne as a child...a lovely, soft-spoken, shy little girl who had a crush on her son. She smiles at that, wistful...then she remembers how badly Roseanne took her mother's death. Roseanne loved her father, but it was her mother she was always closest to; and when she died, that soft-spoken, shy little girl died with her. That was probably it, Carlotta thinks. That must have been when it all started.
The buzzer rings again, startling Carlotta out of her train of thought. She looks up to see the door opening on the other side...and a guard walking in with Roseanne, leading her by the elbow. The guard walks with her to the chair opposite Carlotta and sits her down, then steps back, against the wall.
It takes Carlotta a moment to stop gaping at this new version of Roseanne...she had always been so fashionable. Now, she sits there with no makeup, in bright orange scrubs with the prison's name stenciled across the chest...and her hair, always so long and silky, now a sloppily chopped shoulder-length. Even so, her natural beauty remains...and she offers Carlotta a little smile.
Carlotta smiles back, halfheartedly, then she reaches out and picks up the telephone in front of her. Roseanne reaches out and does the same...and Carlotta's heart stops for a second at another harsh sight...Roseanne's delicate wrists, bound in handcuffs. Roseanne notices the look on her face, and smiles again, she puts the phone to her ear, with some difficulty.
"Pretty weird, huh?" she says, trying to keep it light...trying to ease Carlotta into place. But Carlotta quickly makes another face to cover up.
"Weird doesn't even begin to describe it."
Roseanne does a slight take at that, surprised by the coldness in her tone. Then she gets herself together, and gets back into character, sinking into a remorseful-looking expression.
"Well...thanks for coming. It's kinda late for you to be coming out all this way, isn't it?"
Carlotta stares at her for a moment, not sure what to say...or even what to feel. The emotions churn away inside her, all jumbled up...and despite her deepest wish that Roseanne would be genuinely sorry and want forgiveness, she can't help but feel that Roseanne has her under a microscope...her reactions being watched and examined, carefully...for what purpose, she didn't know.
She swallows hard, trying to maintain some composure. "What do you want?" she asks bluntly, disregarding her question altogether.
Roseanne studies her right back, wondering what her next move should be. Before she entered the room, she imagined that Carlotta would be her usual motherly, sentimental, weepy self...wanting to reach out to her and support her, despite everything that had happened. She figured if she just spoke softly and acted meek and humble, Carlotta would open right up. But she senses a mental wall between them, in addition to the physical one. Carlotta was trying to keep her out. So she sits back a little, deciding to try another angle.
"I don't want anything from you. I wrote you that letter because..." she starts, then trails off.
Carlotta raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"Look, I'm really...sorry...about everything," Roseanne says, trying her best to sound sincere. "And I just thought...maybe...you could forgive me."
Carlotta takes that in...then she takes a deep breath, switching the phone from one ear to the other.
"You thought *I* could forgive you...well...maybe...someday. But I'M not the one you should be asking for forgiveness, Roseanne. You KNOW that."
Roseanne nods, bristling a little...she hated Tea so much that just the idea of her was enough to piss her off. But...she covers up quickly, not wanting to drive Carlotta away before she got what she wanted.
"Yeah, I know," she replies, looking down, keeping her voice low. "But I'm not likely to get it, am I? Not in this lifetime...or any other, for that matter."
Carlotta shrugs. "I can't do anything about that."
Roseanne looks back up at her. "Yeah, I know that, too."
Silence passes between them for a moment, as each one sizes up the other. Finally, Carlotta sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose...feeling the stress in her head, from trying to maintain a cool front. She can feel Roseanne's eyes on her, looking into her...trying to break her down, trying to get at her thoughts.
"What do you REALLY want, Roseanne, huh? Why don't you just tell me, save us both the time."
Roseanne's eyebrow arches, ever so slightly...hmmm...she's trying, I'll give her that, she thinks. Yes, you can try...but it won't work...you don't control ME...oh, no...
...I'M the one...who controls YOU.
"I miss you. I miss...Cris, I miss Angel Square...that so hard to believe?" she says, sounding hurt.
Carlotta looks up, dropping her hand away from her face. "Coming from the person who kidnapped and tortured a pregnant woman? Yeah, I find that pretty hard to believe," she snaps back.
Roseanne eyes her, smiling inwardly...knowing that she's about to lose it. That's it...tell me...tell me how you hate me...tell me how I ruined Tea's pathetic little life...tell me how that sonofabitch Todd wants to kill me...tell me everything...
...tell me about the children, Carlotta...those precious little angels...those beautiful babies...tell me...
"I said I was sorry," she says, calmly waiting...waiting for the wall to crumble.
Carlotta's eyes flash with anger...cracking...crumbling. "Yeah, well, y'know what? I don't think you mean that. I don't think you give one good goddamn about Tea, or what you did to her. In fact, I think you're pretty proud of yourself, aren't you? You WANTED her to suffer...you WANTED her to pay for...whatever. And it didn't matter that she was pregnant, didn't matter that there were innocent lives involved...you just didn't care."
That's it...that's it...keep going...Roseanne thinks, enjoying herself now, trying to keep from grinning...knowing that she doesn't even have to keep up the appearances anymore. She can be honest now, and can say whatever she wants...as long as her tone stays quiet and cool...soothing.
"Oh, gimme a break, Carlotta. They might be cute now...but remember whose spawn they are."
Carlotta's mouth drops open at that...and she hesitates, knowing she wasn't even supposed to talk about them. Tea had forbidden it, with good reason...but she had to defend them...had to try and talk some sense into her.
"My god...listen to you... 'spawn.' They are NOT spawn...they're CHILDREN...and they're INNOCENT. Doesn't matter WHO brought them into this world."
"Oh, no? You don't think it matters that their father's a head case who's prone to violence? Sexual violence? Against women? You don't think that genetic switch was flipped? Well, maybe not...maybe they got lucky...maybe they got all of Tea's pure normality," she replies, leaning closer to the glass.
"But then again...maybe not. Maybe they're screwed either way... 'cause they either have the Lord genes, or they have the Manning genes. And BOTH of those families are chock full o' nuts, aren't they?" she whispers, watching the horror spreading across Carlotta's face.
She lets her grin spread across her own face, sitting back again. "Hmmm...come to think of it, they might have BOTH sets of genes...and end up being WORSE than Todd. Now THERE'S a scary thought."
Carlotta gapes at her, wanting to stop everything...wanting to get up and leave. But Roseanne's calm, even, almost musical tone kept her right where she was, transfixed...and the words just kept coming out, whether she wanted them to or not.
"Y'know, you wouldn't be talking like that if you saw them. They're two beautiful boys, Roseanne...they're angels...and I refuse to believe that there is NO hope for them at all."
Roseanne grins wider...yes, that's it...the little boy angels...tell me...tell me their names...
"Oh, that's right...let's not forget about Tea. She'll protect them, won't she? She'll try, and try, and TRY...but when it comes right down to it, she couldn't even protect HERSELF from Todd...so what makes you think she'll be able to save...oh, I'm sorry...I forgot their names."
"Evan and Brendan," Carlotta replies, automatically, without a thought.
Roseanne's grin becomes a full beam at that. "Evan and Brendan...beautiful names...beautiful names for beautiful boys. But y'know...maybe...they shouldn't be saved. Maybe they should be put out of their misery before they grow up to be abusers like their father...or before HE decides to abuse THEM."
Carlotta finally manages to shake herself out of whatever it was that was holding her...and she leans forward, right up to the glass. "I knew it. I knew you didn't care. And I came up here anyway, hoping that...just hoping. Well, y'know what? You just destroyed any hope I had left for you. You made your bed, Roseanne...now you lie in it...for the rest of your life."
With that, she slams the phone down hard, and the chair screeches across the floor as she pushes back and gets up. Roseanne watches her, as she grabs her things and leaves the room as quickly as she can. Then she puts the phone back, feeling a warmth inside...a feeling of victorious calm, as gets up, making an 'oh, well' face at the guard.
"Well, you heard the woman. Take me back to my bed."
...yes...back to bed...back to work.
*****
He's tearing through a blackish wood, the low branches of trees cutting him, cutting skin, cutting clothes, as he runs breathless. It's too dark to see where he's going ... but he just keeps running. No looking back either, just running, ducking, jumping, tripping, getting back up. The smell of pine is all over him, the smell of black dirt, of rotting leaves. The bloody gashes on his arms and back are stinging him as he zips past the endless trees and stars above him, as he runs beneath a moon offering meaningless light. Suddenly, bullets zing past, the shouts of cops let loose to hunt him down prick his ears. He doesn't stop, though, even if his muscles are cramping, even if he can't breathe anymore. Keeping his manic pace up, one thought sticks to him, one thought repeats over and over and over: freedom. No more shackles, no more prison bars, no more guards lording over him, no more torture by the other inmates ... no more ... no more. But all of a sudden he comes to a halt, stopped by a wall of sheet rock. There's no other way out of this nightmare, but up - yet there's no damn way to climb it, no damn way.
Wait ... wait .... he sees a crack in the cliff, a place for his fingers ... then another, a spot for his shoed toes. Yeah ... yeah ... just climb the thing ... climb that impossibly ... high ... wall of death ... climb ... and pray you don't fall.
Don't look down ... don't ... look down.
With a gasp, Todd jerks fully awake, sweat dripping off him. Still out of breath. He sniffles, scratching his head, rubbing the pain out of his eyes. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he notes that it's near-about seven in the morning. He clears his throat and sits up ... the leather couch barely making a sound. The dream had been too real. Grimacing, he easily recalls that desperate run for freedom ... he remembers running so hard from the Llanview law. Never did get away - and what he ended up with instead was a bullet in his chest and a trip back to Statesville. All because of ... Marty Saybrooke. Marty ... Marty. Marty the Party Girl, Marty the snitch, Marty the ... bitch. Marty, the one who brought down the rapist, the one who cut through the crap and made Todd face his worst self.
Todd lies back down on the couch. Todd the Rapist ... is that who Tea had seen the other night as he made love with her? He had thought her crying jag was over the kidnapping, he had thought ... it was memories of that bastard Shelton that had spooked her, that had triggered her complete and total breakdown. Those tears ... that ... fear. No ... more than fear, it was terror. But maybe ... maybe he had hurt her ... and he was the one who Tea was afraid of.
The Penthouse was noiseless. No crying babies, no sweet cooing of Tea to the boys, no musical swings, no ... noise. Of course there isn't any ... he was behind the closed door of an extra room which served as his office. Far away from the commotion of the household, lying on a couch, still dressed in day clothes. Black jeans, black sweater. Black ... black. Like death, like mourning. Even the couch was black. He sniffles. He curses himself. This was the second time in a row that he had fallen asleep here. Working too late, drinking too late, avoiding lying in the same bed as Tea.
She needs you, you jerk. Right, like a hole in the head.
He groans as he becomes aware of a pounding headache. He had drunk too much the night before. On the floor was his glass of whiskey. Some was still in there, glimmering in the ray of sunshine breaking through the blinds.
Noiseless.
Forcing himself up from the couch, he stretches his muscles out, rubbing the spot on his chest where he'd been shot that one time, so long ago. Tea wasn't recovering very well from her ordeal. Was his past ... getting in the way? She'd been sexually assaulted ... God ... would she ever look at him the same way? He picks up the glass of whiskey and drinks the rest of it. Washing his mouth out with alcohol. Beautiful, he thinks, sarcastically, rolling his eyes...
...and without personal warning, a surge of anger comes out of nowhere, and he throws the glass against the wall. Smashing it to bits ...
Todd the ...
He pulls open the door and finds the place still silent. When he reaches the boys' room, he glances in and sees that they're sleeping. A miracle - a miracle that Tea had taken care of them all by herself. He walks away, chastising himself as he peeks into his and Tea's room. She was sleeping, too. Slightly twitching. Walks away. Starr's room was next - except unlike the others, it was empty. She had spent the night - she'd been downright giddy to be with the boys, with Todd and Tea. "I love you, daddy," she'd whispered to him as he had covered her up to go to sleep. I love you. Such simple words ... yet such strength in them. Why is it his love didn't seem to do anything for Tea's pain?
Why is it her love ... had done nothing for him for so long? Why hadn't anybody's love ... done anything for him?
He stops for a moment, thinking he might go get some more whiskey. Oh, god, what are you, stupid? ...try some coffee instead. But then he hears something...Starr's voice. So innocent ... so playful. He kind of laughs, shaking his head. She would be better than coffee, than whiskey, than the sound of his own miserable internal voice.
"Oooh, another picture ..." she says, with a sing-songy sweetness. "It's daddy ... hi, daddy ..."
She's talking to the picture. Where is she?
"Asso...s... hmm... pee ..are...err...ess...oh, press." Such a delicate voice. Like a fairy ...
And it hits him ... the room at the end of the hallway. Lots of junk in there, papers ... files... books, storage. Lots of opportunity to get hurt in there. He picks up his pace ...
"Todd Manning...w....w.... one of .... t, h...oh, the 'th' sound... th...reeee .... three men ...."
She's reading. What ... what is she reading?
Her voice carries down the hallway like the twittering of a sparrow on a spring morning and Todd follows it, finally reaching the doorway to the room. In a single instant, he gathers that Starr has emptied one of the file drawers ... just one of them ... and papers were everywhere ... a mess ... a real mess ... like out of movie, like out of a freakin' horror movie, he thinks. Starr was reading ... surrounded by filth ... dirty .. rotten filth and she had gotten into it ... had gotten into his papers.
She looks up at Todd for a second, giving him a smile...then she looks back at the garbage she's feasting on ...
...and with innocent eyes, with innocent lips, she reads.
"Dad, look...I can read this. R....r.... rap...ed. Is that a short 'A' or a long 'A'? Hmmm...r...ay...ped. Rrrray-ped...oh...raped."
Todd's eyes just about pop out of their sockets at that. "What ... the ..."
She looks back up at him, blinking...so innocently. "Daddy ... this says that...you...raped M... M .... Mar...tee .... Say ... ber... ook. Marty Saybrooke. Who's that? And what's raped? Is that something bad?"
Something snaps inside of him. He shakes his head and stares once again at Starr's sweet mouth ... with that word still there ... still dirtying her innocent ... innocent being. It was like she bent down and kissed dirt. Kissed the garbage ... kissed worse than that.
"Look, here's a picture ... a picture of you!" she says...then her smile fades a little, seeing the look of horror on Todd's face. She starts to get the impression that she may have done something she wasn't supposed to. A heavy silence fills the room for just a second...
...then Todd storms over to her, a flood of bitter saliva filling his mouth as he rips the paper violently out of her hands. Starr gasps, her mouth falling open, her eyes widening...frightened... but he didn't care, she kissed dirt ... she kissed worse ... worse....
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!!" he yells, shaking the papers at her. At his precious girl. With the dirty mouth.
"DON'T YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT RESPECT?!! THESE ARE MY THINGS, STARR!! MINE!!"
Starr trembles violently, barely able to speak. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry, Dad," she says ... but to no effect. Todd was completely beside himself... Todd .... Todd the rapist ... Todd the father who was a rapist.
He didn't care her feelings at this point. Who cared about that when his baby girl was looking into the pit of hell ... standing at the edge with the stench snaking up to her? She had opened the door to hell ... with little hands ... ivory against iron ... and those horrible words had entered her brain, had burned themselves onto her retina ... if she'd close her eyes, she could probably still see the letters: T-o-d -d, r - a - p - e - d. Daddy raped. No ... she had to learn a lesson about opening drawers, doors, opening things that she wasn't ready for.
What is raped, Daddy? Huh?!!
Shaking with fury, Todd bends down and lifts his daughter by her upper arms, arms tucked tightly into her ... lifts her, effortlessly, light as a feather...and he brings her close to him, looking into those sweet eyes and he shakes her ... just enough to drive home his point, just enough to scare the living hell out of her. Todd ... the monster.
"STAY OUT OF MY THINGS!!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!! STAY OUT OF MY THINGS!!"
Starr's legs dangle helplessly...and she cringes at his yelling, and at the smell of alcohol on his breath.
"Daddy, please...I didn't mean to, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, PLEASE!"
"DON'T EVER!! EVER!!" He shakes her ... just slightly... with each command. "DON'T EVER DO THIS AGAIN!!! DO YOU HEAR ME?!! DO YOU?!!"
"TODD!!" Tea's horrified voice breaks through like a slap in the face ... and suddenly, Todd realizes what he's doing. He looks over and sees Tea's face, her eyes...those beautiful eyes, staring at him in shock. Starr's cries have turned into screams by now, and he puts her down. Plops her onto the floor amidst the trash. Amidst the filth. Stumbling backwards, he mumbles, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry ... oh ... damn it. Starr ..." He tries to reach to her, but instead, she gets up in a desperate frenzy and runs over to Tea, grabbing onto her legs, and hiding her face.
"I want to go to mommy!!! I WANT MOMMY!!" she cries and cries ... and Tea can only hold her. Looking at Todd ... and the mess of papers ... the newspaper clippings ... she wasn't sure what had happened.
"Todd? What's going on? What happened?" she asks, warily, kneeling down to Starr's level.
Todd shakes his head ... the words were sort of stuck ... he was the worst kind of monster. One who doesn't learn ... one who falls right into old ... beaten-in ways of behavior. The worst ...
"She ... uh ... got into my things ... shouldn't have ... done that ..."
"She got into your ... things?" Her voice ... there was something there. She looks accusingly at Todd .... Starr was crying into Tea's clothes, into her chest. Tea rocks her, trying to soothe her, but Starr was inconsolable. Todd was, too. Tears sprung forth in his eyes - he was speechless. Tea didn't understand ... didn't ... understand.
"Starr, please ..." he croaks. He walks up to her and tries to touch her, tries to comfort her. All Starr could do was cry and move away from him.
"Oh, Shorty...Daddy's sorry ... Daddy .. was wrong ... it's just that ..."
Tea said coldly, icily, "It's just ... what? What could this 'just' be?"
"Daddy's sorry." he says, touching Starr's shoulder.
"No...I want my mommy .... I want my mommy ...please..." was all Starr could say.
Tea shuts her eyes, hugging her stepdaughter tightly...her own heart breaking, from feeling Starr still trembling violently in her arms. She looks up at Todd again...and says coldly, icily...
"Get outta here, Todd. Just go ... let her calm down and...and then we'll deal with it."
He stares back at her. "But I have to clean up ... the mess ... I have to," he says, his voice cracking.
Tea stands up at that, looking at all the papers, at the mess. Starr holds her hand tightly, hiding behind her.
"Fine," she whispers. "We'll go get dressed ... while you clean up. But afterwards ... you better go."
She turns with a still sobbing Starr, and they walk out. Todd sits on a chair in the middle of the room. Puts his head in his hands and cries, too. Making some noise, making some kind of a mess of himself. Never had he lost his temper with Starr like that. NEVER. After some minutes ... he pulls himself together. Sniffling ... he grabs a trashcan. Picks every single paper relating to the rape of Marty Saybrooke and stuffs them into the can. He hunts for the lighter he always keeps in his pocket ... fishes for it. Finds it.
Peter's lighter ... the one he used to torture Todd with.... the one ... the one he'd created the monster with. He lights the top paper. Lights another paper. As it burns, he walks over the window and opens it. The damn sprinklers would go off if the smoke got too thick. He stands by ... the smoke of hell making its way out the window. Into the air ....
Todd the rapist ... burning in hell.
*****
The rain falls, steady and cold...pelting Dean from all angles as he walks quickly down the street with his bag of groceries. Keeping his head down, he almost passes right by his street, everything looking the same in the rain---drab gray. He doubles back and heads down the small side street, sprinting as he gets closer to his building. Then he fumbles with his keys, holding the keychain up to the lamp by the door. When he finally spots the spots the right key, he opens the door quickly, and shuts it just as fast. He rests against it for a moment, sighing...letting the rain drip off and form puddles on the floor.
"I hate England...HATE England. HATE it," he whispers to himself, as he wipes his wet face with a wet hand. He takes off the hooded slicker, shaking more water off of it...then he looks at the mailboxes. Catching himself, he sighs again, heading up the stairs.
Why do you keep looking for mail, moron? Nobody knows you're here.
He steps quietly up the stairs...as quietly as possible considering how creaky the old steps were. He looks around at all the other doors as he passes them, trying not to make a sound. He'd been there for several weeks, and doubted if anyone else in the building even knew he was there. And he wanted to keep it that way. The last thing he needed was even one friendly, nosy neighbor, wanting to borrow a cup of sugar. He opens his door and steps inside, looking back out at the empty hall before closing it behind him quietly. He tosses the wet slicker over the chair, as he heads into the kitchen...making a face as he starts to empty the bag full of sopping wet groceries.
"Great," he mutters, setting it all out on the table to dry...except the milk, the eggs and the beer, which he sticks in the mostly empty icebox. Gazing at the long-necked bottles, he grabs one and shuts the fridge. Then he opens the beer by resting the edge of the cap on the counter and slamming the base of his hand down on it, forcing the cap off. He takes a long swig as he walks into the small, sparsely furnished living room...then he looks down at his pant legs, not only soaking wet but cold now, rubbing uncomfortably against his skin. Then he notices the squishy sound his feet are making, and groans, taking another swig as he squishes over to the desk by the far wall and turns on the lamp. He runs a finger over the touchpad of the laptop sitting there, waking it up as he takes off the wet boots and socks. He moves his finger along the pad, tapping an icon to log on to the internet. The computer beeps and screeches, as it dials and connects.
He walks back over to the window, and stares out at the city of London...his dreary new home. He looks down at the street, at the cars and people moving back and forth in the rain, which seemed to come down in a never-ending stream. He tries to remember if he'd seen one sunny day in all the time he'd been there...and laughs to himself, unable to recall.
It definitely wasn't where he envisioned himself living...but then, he didn't like doing that. Envisioning was too much like dreaming...or hoping. And in the kind of business he'd found himself in, it just wasn't a good thing to do. But as he stands there, he realizes that he'd been doing it a lot lately, despite all his efforts not to. He envisioned a life other than the one he was currently living...and the envisioning always led his thoughts back to one person. He sighs, twitching a little, trying to shake it off...but his thoughts wouldn't roll off as easily as the rain. He keeps hearing her strained, whispering voice:
"You listen to me...I will always be grateful for what you did for me, alright? But that's where it ends. You don't know me, and I don't WANT to get to know you. Now you've got it good...you even said, nobody's gonna find you. So don't screw it up now by thinking that you have to...take care of me, or something...DON'T call here again...I mean it."
He makes a face, remembering how her words had bothered him. Even now, he still tried to tell himself that he didn't care, tried to convince himself of it...but her words had hurt, and that had surprised him...proved him wrong, yet again. Just like that night...when he left her alone, and came back to find her being attacked by those...punks. The mere thought of it brings back some of the anger, as he remembers being only too ready to plug them both...wanting to, even...when he saw what they had done to her. Then he bites his lip, remembering carrying her out of there, remembering the feel of her weight in his arms, as she gave over, and let her head rest on his shoulder...
...trusting him...her captor...trusting him...to take care of her.
It was all so screwed up...and he makes a face, knowing she was right...knowing he shouldn't be calling her, knowing he shouldn't be making any contact with her at all, ever...and knowing he's running the risk of being traced every time he does. His friends back home had risked a lot to bust him out, and if the cops found him now, all of that would have been for nothing. And on top of that, he knew Tea was trying hard to get on with her life. He was sure it was hard enough for her to forget the nightmare she'd been through, without him calling and reminding her. She had kids now, and needed to spend all her time and energy on that...her family.
No doubt, calling her was reckless...ill-advised...stupid.
He knows it...but at the same time, something was still bothering him...something about her voice, something in it. It was almost as if HE wasn't the one upsetting her, but something...or someone...else. He starts wondering about Todd...wondering if there was something going on there. He'd done some reading up on Todd before he even went to Llanview the first time, and knew of his history...the rape conviction, his time in jail, his general reputation as a head case...and volatile on top of that. Definitely not someone to mess with...definitely not a Ward Cleaver-type father...
...and he starts to wonder...if that...is the real problem.
But before he can wonder anymore, a pleasant-sounding voice comes out of the computer's speakers.
"You've got a message."
Distracted for the moment, he mutters, "Finally...jesus..." as he clicks open the file.
"...so tell me again, man...why the hell am I here?"
As he reads the message to get his answer, as his steady eyes move back and forth along the words, he rubs his face, contemplatively. He reads it again, just to make sure he gets all the details clear...then deletes it and logs off, keeping his connections short...untraceable. He grabs the beer and gets up, going back to the window, peeking out through the drawn blinds...thinking about what he just read, thinking about who it is he'd be meeting later on that night, thinking about what he'd have to do after that...
...thinking...envisioning...
Dean turns from the window suddenly, moving over to the couch with a purpose. He grabs his backpack lying there, and starts digging through it. He pulls out a new cell phone...one his contact had given him when he first got there. It used a stolen phone number, and in turn, bounced the signal off of a dozen different satellites, all over the world...
...making his calls untraceable...at least, for a while.
He taps the tiny phone against the palm of his hand...debating.
*****
"...don't you cry at the moon, little Angels, don't you cry at the darkness ... don't you cry at the light, little Angels ... for it will make you sleep ... it's the heat of truth you must run from ... it's the heat of truth ... sleep now, little Angels... for the sleep of death awaits you ... at the hands of love..."
Sick. Tea wipes her mouth on a towel, washing her perspiring face...looking into the mirror for the hundredth time. Must be a flu, she thinks. Why else was she throwing up? Her babies ... her babies ... waiting for death at the hands of love, of Satan ... of .... their father. She'd spent most of the morning trying to appease Starr with little result - and had watched an extremely depressed Todd march out of the Penthouse on a mission, still unforgiven by his baby.
A mission to where? To what? Tea steps out into the hallway, and peeks in on Starr, who was finally sleeping, thank goodness. It was around one in the afternoon, now. She walks down the steps ... glancing behind her because she had felt something cold brush by.
My God, she started to cry again. My God - was Todd really capable of the unthinkable? He had shaken Starr ... not hard ... but it didn't matter. The way he had held that tiny girl in his hands, gripping her by her arms that way ... like she wasn't a person. Like she wasn't his little girl ... like ... like ...
The image comes back - mowing right into her. Satan ... that coat flapping in the wind, that laugh, the way he held her boys by their necks. Shaking them. "They are MINE!!" Todd had yelled that to Starr ... for her keep out of his things. HIS ... he'd completely lost it. And she had never seen him direct that kind of anger at Starr. Ever. Ever ... the boys were swinging happily in their swings. Happy ... happy as angels. She kneels to them and they both laugh. Smiling so brightly...and Tea can't help but feel her heart clench with love for them.
Then a thought suddenly pops into her head. One that was shocking ... that was glaringly out of the ordinary. She wanted to pick up her boys and leave. Something ... was pulling at her ... nagging at her soul.
Mijos chulitos, mijos lindos .... angelitos perfectos. Hijos mios. Mine ... mine ...
Closing her eyes, Tea listens to the music playing on the swings. She could practically feel the wind of a Puerto Rican beach sting her skin, bite at her face, whip through her hair. She could practically hear the voice of Abuelita, assuring her of the power of love, of how her boys were going to grow up strong ... and healthy.
She opens her eyes again, and sees Brendan, who had stopped his cooing and was simply watching her ... like always, he was watching her with old eyes, watching her with empathy. Strange, she thinks, how can an infant sense so much?
She gives her boy a sad smile. "It's okay, Brendan, I'm okay. We're gonna be okay."
Just then, the phone rings. Tea stands up quickly and runs to pick up ... "Todd?" she says, with the image in her head...the image of Todd, standing somewhere cold...alone, and heartbroken...god, she was worried about him.
"No. It's me."
And just like that, the image vanishes, popping like a bubble, as she recognizes the voice. Ohmygod ... she thinks, holding back a swell of hurt...but it was rising quickly. Was it just a coincidence that he would call...today...right now...? He was the one who had saved her from evil, he had saved her ... from rapists. Had carried her like a baby ...
...no. NO. Snap out of it...snap out of it, right now. You don't need him.
"I told you not to call here. Are you deaf? Or just...stupid?" she says, the swell of hurt becoming frustration.
"Well, I'm not deaf," he replies, flatly...calmly...god, he was always so calm.
Tea turns around, looking at her boys...knowing that this conversation was being taped by RJ...and at some point, Todd was going to hear it. He would hear her...talking to her enemy...his enemy...and she knew what that would do to him.
End it. NOW.
"I'm hanging up now."
"Hold on. Write this down."
"Excuse me??" she snaps back.
"Please...just write this down."
"Look, whatever you're doing, just STOP, okay? I don't want anything from you ... you've done enough," her words say...but her voice, though...her tone...was saying something else.
Across the ocean, sitting in his apartment, on the edge of the couch, Dean pauses for a moment...then starts rattling off numbers. Instinctively, and before she can tell herself not to, Tea reaches for the pen and pad on the desk, and writes down what she hears. Years of being a lawyer...always write numbers down ...ALWAYS.
"Stay away from me!" she whispers, harshly.
But dead air is all she gets in response. She listens...he had already hung up. She hangs up too, looking at her baby boys again. Their swings had wound down, and both of them had drifted off to sleep...
.... Dean had saved her ... and them... saved her from rapists. Saved her from Satan's workers. Saved them from death. Would he save her...and them...from Satan himself?
She looks back at the pad...at the random string of numbers. Seemingly random. She stares at them, trying to figure out what they mean. Couldn't be a phone number...too many digits...
She makes a face...thinking...then she runs over to her purse, pulling out her cell phone. Doubted her cell phone was bugged. Was that even possible? Should I even be doing this? Sniffling, she tries dialing the numbers...and as she expected, she gets an operator's voice, happily telling her that she didn't know how to dial properly. She clicks off...thinking...staring at the numbers...getting another idea. She tries them again...but this time, she dials the international code first.
And sure enough...it rings. Tea feels the flutters in her chest as it rings again...and again...and then...
"Knew you'd figure that out pretty quick," he says.
His voice was so unique... like sugar rolling about your tongue, like a drink of warm tea running through your veins. And Tea starts to cry immediately, gripping the phone in her hands. She was so confused now ... this was breathtakingly confusing. She felt the pain of Todd making love to her ... out of nowhere it came. He had been too rough ... he had been ... to needy of her ... too ... too ...
STAY OUT OF MY THINGS!! MY THINGS!!
"Where are you?" she whispers...her voice barely registering.
"Well...let's just say Europe for now."
"You shouldn't be doing this. You're gonna get caught."
"I'm not gonna get caught. Don't worry about it."
Tea slaps a hand over her eyes...suddenly realizing, again...ohgod...what am I doing...?
"Why...why do you insist on calling me? Huh? What do you want from me?"
There's a slight pause...and all of a sudden, Tea senses how difficult this is for him, too.
"I want to see you."
"Oh, jesus...no...NO," she says...unable to hide the fact that she's crying. It just comes out...and on the other end, Dean hears her cries...and being unable to do anything else, he gets up and paces.
"Tea, what's going on over there? What's wrong? Tell me ... please."
She shakes her head...and wipes her eyes. "Nothing. Nothing YOU can fix...nothing you can carry me away from."
"Oh yeah? Try me."
"No. My life is none of your business. So stop trying to get involved."
Dean stops in the middle of the room, staring up at the ceiling in frustration for a second. Then he takes a breath.
"Listen to me. I'm not trying to make trouble for you...but I can hear you crying. I heard you crying the last time. Now I want you to tell me what's going on."
"Why?" Tea replies, pacing around now herself. "What difference does it make? You CAN'T help me."
"Wrong. I CAN help you...and I WANT TO."
Tea stops in front of the boys' swings...and stares at them...her sleeping angels. Dean listens to the silence...and knows she's listening.
"I OWE you. What you went through is MY FAULT. So if I can help you now, please...LET ME. Let me help you. Tell me what you need ... and I'll do it...whatever it is."
"Why are you being ... so nice to me?" she suddenly asks, still staring at the boys.
"I just told you."
"Ohgod..." Tea sighs, as she sits down on the couch. She was so tired...so confused...so worried...so in need of help...
"I just ... I don't get it. I don't get anything anymore. I don't understand what's happening with anything."
That cold breeze again ... it washes over her. The image again ... pops before her eyes, dancing about her head ... Todd as the Devil ... holding his children in his hands ... killing them. Crushing them. And all of a sudden, all Tea can think...is that she has to leave. That she has no choice. Todd had exposed his true self to her, to his own daughter.
"I think...I think I have to leave ... for my own sanity," she finally blurts out...unable to see Dean's face on the other end...the surprise...the glad surprise.
"I have to ..."
Dean swallows hard, still trying to register that she was actually reaching out to him. Then his mind starts racing, starts formulating a plan.
"Uh...okay...okay. Tea, listen...are you listening to me?"
She nods, her eyes still fixed on the boys. "Yes."
"Okay. Listen to me very carefully. I'm gonna get you outta there...and you're gonna come here...babies and all, I don't care. I'm gonna set everything up as soon as I hang up this phone. Call me back in one hour."
I am insane, Tea says to herself. I'm as insane as Todd is. Maybe this is how he felt towards Peter? Sticking by him ... trying to love his abuser? What the hell is wrong with me?!
"One hour, Tea. Alright?"
I've lost it, she thinks...then she hears herself say, "Fine," as she clicks the cell phone off.
She stares at the sleeping twins. Her hands were shaking. She was sweating. She drops the phone, runs to the kitchen and throws up in the sink. Sick ... sick....
Angels of mine, I am your protector. I will tear apart anyone or anything that endangers you. I will die protecting you, throwing myself in front of a fierce lion, jumping before a bearing-down train ... all to protect you. I will run like hell with you ... to protect you. I am your mother... I am ... your mother.
To Be Continued...
