From: krk1@pyuxe.cc.bellcore.com (knights,katriena r)
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
Subject: The Sins of the Father - PART III
Message-Id: <1993Apr23.200902.28576@porthos.cc.bellcore.com>
Date: 23 Apr 93 20:09:02 GMT
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The Sins of the Father

by

Katriena Knights

PART III

****

Dinner was quiet and almost homey.  They didn't talk very much, but 
when they did it was typical dinner conversation.  Kelly told them 
more about the magician she had seen at school, and about the story 
she'd read for English class.  Michael complimented Sam on the 
chicken, and Kelly on the stuffing.  Sam mentioned something he had 
seen on TV that morning.

So far so good, he thought as he picked up the dishes.  Michael 
retired to the living room and started to work the crossword puzzle 
in the paper.  Kelly turned on the TV and settled down to watch a 
sitcom Sam didn't recognize.  Sam took his time washing the dishes.  
He could stand to suffer a case of dishpan hands to pull off this leap.

It was seven o'clock when Sam finished and came into the living 
room to join the rest of the family.  Everything was still fine.  Only an 
hour and a half to go.

There was only one unoccupied seat left in the living room, and that 
was on the couch next to Michael.  Sam sat down.  There was a 
_Better Homes and Gardens_ on the table next to him.  He picked it 
up and started reading the recipes.  The TV show faded to a commercial.  
Kelly got up and headed upstairs to the bathroom.

"Maybe Kelly should go to bed early tonight," Michael said.

Sam jumped a little, startled.  "Why?  Does she have to get up early 
in the morning?"  He looked at Michael, who was peering at him 
around the side of the paper.  Sam had seen that look far too often on 
Al's face to have any doubt about what it meant.

Sam smiled, trying to respond the way Laura might.  "Oh, Michael.  
That would be nice, but I'm still not really feeling well.  My head's 
really been bothering me."

Michael nodded.  "Maybe I can help.  I _am_ a doctor, after all."

"That's right, you are."

"Come here," said Michael.

"Where?" asked Sam, nervous.

"Just come over here."  He reached out and took Sam's shoulder, 
pulling Sam sideways across the couch.  "Let me rub your head.  It'll 
help."

Sam obediently put his head in Michael's lap, trying not to flinch as 
Michael's big hands engulfed his head, massaging his forehead and 
the back of his neck.  He closed his eyes, then dared a peek up 
through his eyelashes.  Michael's face was quiet and gentle.  This was 
the Michael Laura loved.  Sam could almost understand the game she 
was playing with herself, to convince herself to stay.  Almost, but not 
quite.

"Mom!"  came Kelly's voice from upstairs.  "I'm going to stay up here 
for a while and read, okay?"

"Okay, honey," Sam called back.

"Is that okay, Dad?"  Kelly added.

"That's fine, Kelly," said Michael.  He smiled down at Sam.  "She's 
doing really well with her school work, isn't she?"

Sam nodded.  "She's doing fine.  She likes math."

"Good.  She can be a doctor, like her dad."

"Maybe."

Michael stopped massaging and smoothed Sam's hair away from his 
forehead.  "There," he said.  "Is that better?"

"A little bit," Sam answered.

Michael smiled.  His other hand slipped across Sam's chest, then 
under the tail of his shirt.  "You look real nice tonight, Laura," he said.

"Thank you," said Sam.  Michael's hand moved up his back, his arm 
cradling Sam's body.  Sam held still, waiting to see what was going to 
happen next.  As he had feared, Michael lifted him and bent to take a 
kiss.  For a moment Sam froze, not sure what to do.  At the last 
moment, he laid his hand on Michael's lips.

"What?" said Michael.

"My mouth still hurts."

Michael's lips tightened.  "Now your mouth hurts?"

Sam nodded, tensing, waiting for Michael's reaction.  Slowly, Michael 
lowered Sam back to his lap.

"Laura," he said, "if you don't want to make love, why don't you just 
tell me?"

"I don't want to make love," Sam said, too quickly.  "I just . . . I mean, 
I'm just not in the mood tonight.  I'm sorry, Michael."

"It's okay."  He leaned back into the couch and Sam sat up, moving a 
little away.  Michael didn't look angry, but he was withdrawing, his
eyes becoming distant.  His face was taking on the same tension it 
had held last night.  But his voice was still quiet.  "It's okay," he 
repeated.  He turned then, his hardening gaze focussed on Sam.  "If 
you can't give me what I need, I'm sure I can find someone else who 
will."

"No, Michael," Sam protested.  "Tomorrow night.  Tomorrow night, I 
promise."

"I don't want it tomorrow night.  I want it now."  Michael stood stiffly 
and went upstairs.

Sam put his face in his hands.  What now?  Michael was going to go 
upstairs, get his coat, and leave, probably to find some other woman 
to satisfy himself with.  So Sam was safe, for the moment, but what 
other repercussions might there be from this?  Sam pushed himself 
up out of the couch to go after Michael, then froze.  He only vaguely 
registered the sound of the Imaging Chamber door opening behind 
him as he realized that Michael had not gone upstairs to get his coat.  
He had gone upstairs to Kelly's room.

"Oh, my God," said Sam.

"What's going on?"  Al demanded.  "Ziggy says the odds of Laura 
getting killed tonight just went up, and they were awfully damn high 
to begin with.  Plus now it looks like Kelly ends up in the hospital, 
too.  What did you do?"

Sam was plowing up the stairs, three at a stride.  "I told him I 
wouldn't have sex with him," he threw back over his shoulder.

"You must have done a hell of a lot more than that!"  Al protested.  
He popped out and appeared in the balcony.  Looking around, he 
registered what was happening and for a moment was speechless 
with disgust.

"No, but I'm damn well about to," Sam snapped back.  He came 
around the corner into Kelly's bedroom and caught himself on the 
doorframe.  Michael was sitting on Kelly's bed, pushing her long, 
blonde hair back from her little ear.  Kelly looked uncomfortable.

"You take your hands off my daughter," Sam snarled.

Kelly looked up and flinched as she saw Sam.  "It's okay.  Daddy's 
just going to tell me a story."

"Like hell he is."  Sam took a step across the room and grabbed 
Michael by his collar, dragging him off the bed.  "You get your filthy 
hands off my daughter.  Now."

Michael laughed.  "_Your_ daughter?" he repeated.  He regained his 
balance and moved back toward the bed, and Kelly.  "My daughter, 
too, Laura."

"Maybe not," said Sam.

Michael froze.  Slowly, he turned to face Sam.  "What did you say?"

"I said maybe she's not your daughter."

"Sam!  What are you doing?"  Al cried from the balcony.  "Ziggy's 
going crazy!"

Michael stepped toward Sam.  Sam had never seen such hatred in a 
man's face, and suddenly he was frightened.  He had accomplished 
his goal, which was to draw Michael's attention away from Kelly, but 
it appeared that he had also gravely endangered himself.  He moved 
backwards, guiding Michael out of the bedroom.

"Look out, Sam.  You're going to walk off the balcony."

Heeding Al's warning, Sam adjusted his course.  At the same time, he 
shifted his balance beneath him, poising for attack if it became 
necessary.

"What are you saying to me, Laura?"  Michael murmured.  "What are 
you saying?"

Sam didn't answer.  He sized Michael up, looking for a weakness.  
Michael's gaze was riveted to Sam's face.  If a blow came low, he 
wouldn't even see it . . . Sam gathered himself, then unleashed.

"That's it, Sam!  Get him!"  He heard Al shout, then Michael's hand 
caught his kick mid-air.  Michael jerked Sam's foot upward and Sam 
went down, flat on his back on the floor.  He heard a ringing thud as 
his head struck the wall.

"Sam!"  Al shouted.  "Sam, are you all right?"

Sam didn't have time to answer.  Michael fell on top of him, 
pinning him to the floor.  Sam's head was still ringing.

"Oh, I get it," Michael was saying in a low, strained voice.  "It was a 
joke.  It was supposed to be a joke."

Sam's stammered reply was cut short by Michael's backhand.  He 
tried to shield his face with his arms, but Michael shifted so that it 
was impossible.  Sam couldn't move at all.  He could barely breathe 
under the crushing weight of Michael's body.

"Well, it wasn't funny," Michael stated.  "It wasn't funny at all."

"Al . . ."  Sam choked.  He could hear the observer behind him, 
because the handlink was squawking incessently, and Al was 
pounding on it.

"I'm here, Sam," Al assured him.  His normally raspy voice was made 
even more so by anxiety.  "I can't do a damn thing, but I'm here."

Michael shifted again.  Sam wedged an arm free, but Michael caught 
it in one hand.

"I think you need to be taught a lesson," Michael said.

"What . . ."  Sam started.  Michael struck him, a slap this time, that 
burned across Sam's face.

"You need to learn not to say no to me," Michael whispered.  
"Especially when I ask you nicely."

"Oh, God . . ."  Sam tried again to thrash free.  Michael backhanded 
him, then grabbed Sam's blouse by the collar and ripped it open.

"I asked you nicely," he said, "and you said no.  I don't like that."

"No.  Please.  No.  Don't do this, Michael.  Please don't do this."  Sam 
was starting to panic.  He couldn't move, couldn't free himself, could 
barely breathe.  His head was ringing from the blows, and he could 
only vaguely hear Al shouting curses behind him.

"You don't leave me much choice, do you?" Michael said.  He forced 
one arm under Sam's body, pinning one of Sam's arms against him 
and closing his big hand around the other.  Sam flailed yet again, to 
no avail.  Michael shoved up against him, drove a knee between 
Sam's legs and then kissed him, brutally forcing his mouth open.  
Sam cried out involuntarily with revulsion, but more from the pain.

"God!  Sam!"  Al screamed.  "Hit him!  Kick him!  Do something!"

But Sam was doing everything he could, which was basically nothing. 
 Michael was huge and heavy and had Sam effectively immobilized 
with his body and one arm.  His free hand was groping at Sam's 
groin.  Sam couldn't even close his mouth, or he would have bitten 
through Michael's tongue.

Then Michael moved back.  Finding an arm free, Sam struck out as 
hard as he could, his fist connecting with Michael's jaw.  Michael 
reeled under the blow, but came back laughing and grabbed Sam by 
the hair, slamming his head into the floor, then sideways into the 
door frame.  Sam's eyes filled up with blood.  The pummeling 
brought a flash of blackness with it.  He struggled back up through 
the haze, determined to hang on to consciousness.  In the moment of 
helplessness, he felt Michael lift himself up, then heard the sound of a zipper.

Blinking furiously, Sam tried to see through the sheet of blood.  
Vaguely, he made out Michael's form kneeling in front of him, his 
back to the stairwell.  "Do it, Sam!" Al was howling.  "Do it now!"

Sam wasn't sure he could.  The parts of his body felt disconnected.  
He bit down on his lower lip, focussing on the tiny barb of pain 
through the roar of agony.  He drew his knees into his chest and 
struck Michael full on the sternum with both feet.

Michael looked surprised as he toppled backward down the stairs.  
Sam heard a series of thuds, then a sharp crack, then silence.

****

"Mommy?"

Sam tried to blink.  His eyes felt gummy, and his lashes stuck 
together as he forced his eyes open.  He had a feeling he had lost a 
few seconds.

"Mommy?"  said the little voice again.  Kelly was leaning over him.  
Her little face was chalky, her eyes wide.  "Mommy, wake up."

"Kelly?"  Sam mumbled.

"Sam!"  Another voice, from behind him, deeper and hoarse.

"Al?"

"Mommy, you're bleeding all over."

"Am I?"  Sam lifted a hand to his face.  His hair, forehead and eyes 
were sticky.  He could feel clotting blood moving sluggishly down a 
crease in his neck.  His hand came back dark scarlet.

"Sam, you're bleeding like a stuck pig,"  Al informed him,  "but I 
think it's just a scalp wound.  You need to get up and check it."

"Michael," said Sam.  He tried to sit up and vertigo grabbed him.  He 
threw out a hand to find his balance and caught himself on the wall.

"Daddy's down there," said Kelly, pointing.  "I think he's dead."

"I took a look at him.  He's not dead, but he's in pretty bad shape."  
Al suddenly appeared in front of Sam, hovering a few inches above 
the staircase.  "Go clean yourself up first, then you can go check him."

Sam nodded.  Gingerly, he came to his feet.

"Is Daddy dead?" Kelly said quietly.

"I don't think so," Sam assured her.

"I'll go check."

"No."  Sam and Al spoke the word in one voice.  "No," Sam went on.  
"Come with me into the bathroom.  I need your help.  I need to clean 
my face off so I can see."

"Are you going to die, Mommy?"

"No, sweetheart," said Sam.  He wavered a little as he went through 
the bathroom door, but caught himself on the sink.  He was leaving 
bloody handprints everywhere.  "I just hit my head.  When you hit 
your head it bleeds a lot even when it's not cut very badly."

"Like when I hit my head on the monkeybars?"

"Right.  Just like . . ."  Sam broke off.  Laura was looking back at him 
from the bathroom mirror.  Her blonde hair was clogged with blood, 
her face covered with it.  "I look terrible."

"You sure do," said Al, who had followed him into the room by 
walking directly through the wall.  "I thought you were dead for a 
minute, but Ziggy said he was still registering life signs.  How bad did 
he hurt you?"

"Pretty bad," Sam admitted.  Kelly had found a washcloth, soaked it 
in water, and was holding it up.  "Thank you."  Sam carefully rinsed 
his face so he could assess the damage.  Most of the blood was from a 
two-inch gash at his hairline, where Michael had slammed him into 
the doorframe.  Bruises were blackening under both eyes, his lip was 
split in two places, and he had another gash on his cheek.  His pupils 
looked too large in the bright light.

"I think I have a concussion," he told Al,  "but I think I'll live."

"Unfortunately, it looks like the nozzle will, too."  He poked at the 
handlink, scowling.  "You'd better call the hospital.  He's got a broken 
neck."

"Just like Laura," said Sam.  His voice sounded distant, even to 
himself.

"Yeah, except Laura died."

"I traded him for her."

"Sam?" Al said.  "Sam, look at me."

Sam turned obediently.  His vision was blurring.

"Sam!  Wake up.  You have to call the hospital."

"Mommy?"  Kelly said suddenly.  "I think I should call the hospital."

"Yeah," Sam mumbled.  "Can you find the number?"

"It's on the phone, Mom."

She ran into the bedroom.  Sam sat down on the bathroom floor and 
listened as the little girl dialed.

"That's a hell of a kid," Al commented.

"Yeah," said Sam.  "Look, Al, I don't think it's such a good idea that I 
go to the hospital.  I mean, what if they start running a lot of tests . . ."

Al waved it off.  "No problem.  You and Laura have the same blood 
type.  As long as they don't start testing hormone levels, you'll be 
fine."

"Laura has an unusually high level of testosterone . . ."  Sam 
mumbled.  He was drifting again.

"You're losing it, Sam," Al said.  "Sam?"

Sam had closed his eyes and was leaning back against the sink.  
"Hmm. . ."  he said.  He wanted to go to sleep.

"Sam!"  Al said sharply.  "Sam, don't you black out on me!  Sam!"

Sam felt his head lolling against the sink.  Some memory prodded 
him, reminding him that he should try to stay conscious.  He forced 
his eyes open.

"That's better," Al said.

"Mom?"  Kelly came back into the room.  "Mom, the ambulance is 
coming.  Are you going to be all right?"

Sam reached up and pulled Kelly close to him.  "I'll be fine, baby.  
Just do me a favor and talk to me, okay?  I have to stay awake until 
the ambulance gets here."  

"What about Dad?"  Kelly asked.  "He's kind of upside down.  What 
should I do?"

"Nothing.  If we try to move him it could hurt him really bad.  Just 
stay put and talk to me."

"What should I talk about?"

"I don't care."

Al knelt next to Sam, peering at him.  His blurred features looked 
more than worried.  "Go get your mom a book," he said to Kelly.  "You 
can read to her."

"Why don't you read me a story," Sam said.

"Okay," said Kelly.  She slipped silently out to her room.

"Check on Michael," Sam said then to Al.  "See if he's conscious."

Al shook his head in disgust, but popped out obediently.  He came 
back with an even deeper frown.  "He's still out.  He looks pretty 
bad."

"Does Ziggy have anything on what happens to him?"

Al shook his head.  "You'll find out soon enough.  Just think about 
yourself for a change, Sam."

Sam closed his eyes again.  He was starting to feel numb.  With his 
eyes closed, it was as if Al wasn't even there.  _What will happen if I 
die?_  The thought floated across his mind with absolute clarity.  
What _would_ happen?

"Sam!"  Al's grating shout cut through the haze.  "Sam, you're not 
gonna die!  Wake the hell up!"

Sam opened his eyes to see Al trying to slap him across the face and 
failing miserably as his hand passed through Sam's cheeks.  Sam 
laughed a tittering, stupid laugh.  Al let go a breath of relief.

"Thank God.  Here comes Kelly."

"Okay, Mom, I have a story."  Kelly sat down on the floor next to Sam 
and opened the book.  "Once upon a time . . ."

****
-- 
-----
Katriena Knights
"I don't mind being in touch with reality, as long as I don't 
have to live there."