From: krk1@pyuxe.cc.bellcore.com (knights,katriena r) Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: The Sins of the Father - PART II Message-Id: <1993Apr23.200809.28513@porthos.cc.bellcore.com> Date: 23 Apr 93 20:08:09 GMT Sender: netnews@porthos.cc.bellcore.com (USENET System Software) Organization: Bellcore, Livingston, NJ Lines: 426 The Sins of the Father by Katriena Knights PART II **** Michael left Sam and Kelly alone for the rest of the evening. Sam helped Kelly finish her homework, then read her a story and put her to bed. Michael was downstairs watching TV. Carefully, Sam tiptoed into the bathroom to change clothes. When he came out, wearing Laura's pajamas, Michael was standing outside the door. "Where are you going?" he asked. "I'm going to bed. I, uh . . . I thought maybe I'd sleep in Kelly's room tonight." "Why?" Sam shrugged. "I don't know. She seemed a little . . . scared to go to sleep by herself." "You're not going to spoil that child," Michael stated. "You sleep in our bedroom where you belong." Sam weighed the alternatives. Finally, he stepped toward the bedroom. "Goodnight," he said. "Goodnight, Laura." >From the bed, wrapped in the blankets, Sam watched Michael take off his clothes, then go into the bathroom to brush his teeth. From a medical perspective, this could be an interesting case. Michael's violence wasn't related to alcohol or drugs, as far as Sam could tell. Sam wondered if it was a chemical imbalance of some sort. If so, the man could be helped. Some drugs, some psychotherapy . . . Michael came back into the bedroom. Sam flinched under his sudden, direct gaze. "Don't you forget to pick up my shirts tomorrow," Michael said. "I won't. I'll get them first thing in the morning." "Good." Michael turned off the light, then got into bed. Sam rolled over, turning his back to the other man. Michael was still for a long time. Sam started to relax. Michael rolled over. Sam flinched again, moving closer to the edge of the bed. _Calm down_, he told himself. _Just take a deep breath and calm down. He's had his fun for the night, he's not likely to hit you again_. But it wasn't exactly hitting that Sam was afraid of. He could hear his own heartbeat, loud and fast in the silence. He wondered if Kelly was laying awake in the next room, waiting to hear the slapping again, the whispered threats . . . "Laura?" Sam's hands tightened convulsively on the blanket. "Laura?" Michael said again. "Laura, are you awake?" Sam said nothing. He felt Michael move, then a huge hand cupped his buttock. "Come here, baby," Michael whispered. Sam squeezed his eyes shut. "I have a headache," he said. Michael's hand moved forward, his fingers sliding between Sam's thighs. "Come on, baby. I love you." "I really don't feel well, Michael." Sam put a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound of his breathing, which was coming far too fast. Michael was still for a moment, then pushed away. "Fine. I don't want you, anyway." Sam pulled the edges of the blanket closer to his chest and realized he was shaking. It was a long time before he fell asleep. **** He woke to find himself alone in the bed, sweating, his face aching. The clock read 6 am, so he hadn't overslept. Michael must have left early. _Thank God_, Sam thought. He got up and went to check on Kelly. She was still sleeping peacefully. Her Raggedy-Ann alarm clock was set for 6:30. Sam tiptoed back out of the room and went to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror made him ill. He could have tolerated seeing the injuries on his own face, but on Laura's delicate features they were blasphemy. He had blue bruises along both cheekbones, and his lip was split open and swollen. Sam found a washcloth and ran cold water over it. "Are you sure you're all right?" Sam turned to see Al standing in a space already occupied by the toilet, looking worried. He was wearing electric blue pajamas and a black and white, striped and spotted robe, and hadn't even bothered to light a cigar. "You're up early," Sam commented. "Yeah, well, I was worried about you. I popped in twice during the night, too, just to see if you were okay." "I'll bet Tina loved that." "Tina understood. She's worried about you, too, you know." Sam wrung out the washcloth and gently applied it to his lip. "Thanks, Al," he said sincerely. "I appreciate it." "How's the little girl?" "She's okay." "Where's the nozzle?" "I think he left for work already. He wasn't here when I got up." "Good." Al patted himself down and produced the handlink, then patted himself down again. "Look at this," he said finally. "No cigar. I was so worried about you I forgot my cigar." Sam tried to look at the observer in the mirror, forgetting that holograms didn't reflect. Instead, he looked over his shoulder. "This isn't like you, Al. Why are you so upset?" "I don't know. It's just . . . Laura is such a fragile, pretty woman. She's so sweet and innocent. It just makes me sick to see what she's been living with. And the little girl . . . And Ziggy still says Laura dies tomorrow night, but he can't tell me if it's really Laura, or if it's you." Sam ducked his head into the sink. His ministrations had started his lip bleeding again. "I'm not going to die," he said, his voice echoing against the porcelain. "If you do, I'm going to jump into that accelerator and come back here and beat the living shit out of that mother-. . ." "Al," Sam broke in. "Al, I'm not going to die. And if I do, the last thing you want to do is jump into the accelerator. Trust me." He looked back over his arm at Al, who suddenly looked very much the Navy Admiral, despite the bathrobe, tousled hair and stubble. "Look, Al, you're gonna have to keep calm about this. I need you to get as much data about Laura's death as possible. Otherwise I won't know what to expect, or what to avoid. I also want you to see if you can get Michael's records . . ." "Michael's records? What for?" "I want to see if anybody ever checked him for chemical imbalances or psychological problems." "Well, obviously he's got psychological problems . . ." "Al, I need to know. I think that if we could get some idea of what's wrong with him, we could help him, too." Al was dumbfounded. "Help him? You want to help that jerk? He beat the hell out of you last night! He's been beating the hell out of his wife for the last twelve years. You want to _help_ him? You should _shoot_ him!" Sam straightened. The face looking back at him from the mirror was tiny, bruised and helpless. "If he can be helped, we should help him," he said quietly. "I can't be this man's judge. That's not my job." Al shook his head. "You're a better man than I am, Sam Beckett." He stabbed at the handlink. "I need a cigar. I'll be back later with your data." "Thanks, Al." **** Sam had a hard time with breakfast. Orange juice was incredibly painful, and cereal had too many sharp edges. He finally settled on milk and a bowl of oatmeal. He made the same thing for Kelly, who came downstairs at 6:45, dressed and ready for school. "Are you okay, Mom?" she asked. "Yeah, I'm fine," Sam lied. "Where's Dad?" "He left for work already." Kelly sat down at the table and poked her spoon into her oatmeal. "I'm sorry he hit you last night." "You're sorry? Why are you sorry? It wasn't your fault." "Yes, it was," she said. "If I hadn't asked so many questions, we would have been gone before he got home." Sam shook his head. "I'm not sure about that. Listen, Kelly, your dad's got a problem, and he needs help to fix it. And I have a problem, too, and I'm probably going to have to see some doctors for a while. But none of it is your fault, okay?" Kelly nodded. "Okay, Mom." "Okay. Now, eat your breakfast. Do you have all your homework?" "It's in my bag." "Good girl." They finished breakfast in silence, Sam trying hard not to show the difficulty he was having eating. Kelly was withdrawn and only ate half her oatmeal. Sam watched her as he put her lunch together. She didn't look like she had slept well. When she went to meet the bus at the curb, her gait was a strangely adult plod instead of the happy skip Sam expected from a child her age. He wondered how all this would affect her in the long run. He hoped she would be okay. Once Kelly was off to school, Sam retired to the bathroom, where he used Laura's make-up kit to cover most of the bruises in preparation for his trip to the cleaners. By the time he had finished, he didn't look too bad. As much as he hated leaping into women, he had learned some interesting skills along the way. Al was in the house when Sam returned from the cleaners. He had shaved and dressed -- rather conservatively, Sam noticed -- and looked more like himself. He had also remembered his cigar. "Oh, you're back," he said as Sam came in. "I was about to have Gooshie track you down." "Why didn't you just zero in on me to begin with, like you always do?" "I wanted to look at the house. Ziggy got hold of the police report from Laura's accident, and I wanted to . . . recreate the crime." Sam headed upstairs with the shirts. Al blinked out and rejoined him at the top of the steps. "Apparently, she fell down the full flight," Al said. Sam looked behind him, back down the staircase. "She hit her head, probably on the railing, and then she broke her neck." "Were there any other injuries?" Sam tossed the shirts on the bed and started to pull off the plastic. "We don't know. The cops said it was an accidental death, and no one asked for an autopsy. So there's no way to know how badly she may have been hurt before the fall." "You said it happens at eight-thirty?" "That's right." He was not even bothering to consult the handlink; he must have memorized the details. "How's Laura?" Sam asked, picking up the shirts and taking them to the closet. "Beeks says she's making progress." A sudden beeping began in Al's pocket. Looking surprised, Al pulled out the handlink. His expression darkened as he punched up the new data. "What is it?" Sam asked. Al shook his head angrily. "Nothing good." He paused and shook the handlink, as if hoping the gesture would change the information he was getting. "It's Kelly." "Oh, God, don't tell me he kills her, too." Sam sat down on the bed, feeling sick. "No. But three weeks after Laura's death, Kelly shows up in the emergency room with multiple contusions. According to the medical records, she fell off her bike. And she falls off her bike . . ." He poked a button, then smacked the handlink, muttering to himself. The device's malfunctioning, normally humorous, was now simply irritating. "Six more times over the next year." "No," said Sam vehemently. "It's not going to happen. We're going to stop it right here. Laura's not going to die, and Kelly's not going to spend the rest of her childhood with this . . . this . . . " "Asshole," Al supplied. "Thank you. 'Nozzle' just doesn't quite cut it with this guy, does it?" "Not even close." Al put the handlink back in his pocket. "Are you sure it wouldn't be better if you just hightailed it now, before Michael gets another chance at you?" Sam shook his head. "No. If I leave here, I might leap, and I can't take that chance." "But what if that's all you're supposed to do? What if . . ." "No, Al. I've made up my mind. I don't know whether this is what I'm supposed to do or not, but I'm going to do it. I mean, if I leap now, at best I've kept her alive for a few more days, or a few more years. I haven't really helped her." "I know, I know." Al averted his eyes. "I'm just not sure I want to see you risking your life like this. There's still a really good chance you could die tonight." "I know, Al," Sam said earnestly, "but it's not your decision to make." He stood up, heading for the stairs. "Just keep me posted, and back me up. I'm going to need that more than anything else on this leap." Reluctantly, Al nodded. **** Sam was helping Kelly with her homework when Michael came home. "Hi," Michael said, smiling. He tousled Kelly's hair. "How was school?" "Fine," Kelly answered. "We had an assembly today, with a magician. It was neat." "That's nice. Do you have a lot of homework?" "No, not really." "I remember when I was a kid I always had piles and piles of homework." He headed for the kitchen, where he opened the refrigerator and took out a can of Coke. "I'd be at it for hours." He opened the Coke. "Did you get my shirts today, Laura?" "Yes, I did," Sam answered. "They're in the closet." "Good. Thank you." "You're welcome." Sam was more than a little off balance by now. This was an entirely different Michael. He seemed almost normal. "How was your day?" Sam ventured. "Busy. Flu season, you know. Did we get the paper today?" "It's on the kitchen table." "Great. What's for supper?" "There's a chicken in the oven. Kelly helped make stuffing." It was a boxed mix, but Kelly had enjoyed helping. "Sounds good." The paper rustled as Michael flipped it open. Sam looked at Kelly, who was smiling. "He's happy today," she said quietly. Sam nodded. _For the moment_, he thought. He wondered what was going to happen to set Michael off. Any number of things, realistically. "I'll go read my English now," said Kelly. She picked up the book and stood. "Okay, hon," said Sam. "Dinner will be ready in half an hour." "Okay, Mom." Sam watched Kelly climb the stairs, then went into the kitchen to check the chicken. "Did you make any vegetables?" Michael asked, looking up from the paper. "Yeah," Sam answered. "Carrots and potatoes. And the stuffing, of course. And I pulled an apple pie out of the freezer. I thought you might like it." Michael smiled. "That's nice. It sounds good." Sam opened the oven to baste the chicken. In spite of what he knew would happen tonight, he found himself relaxing. _Maybe it won't happen_, he thought. _Maybe if I can keep him happy, it won't happen_. He wondered how many times Laura had thought the same thing, just before Michael had beaten her again. _But this is different. I'm not Laura. Maybe I can_ . . . He made himself stop. Carefully, he pushed the chicken back into the oven, then straightened. Michael looked at him over the paper. "Are you okay, Laura?" Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine." Sam did not have a degree in psychology, but he understood some of the basic thought processes that kept a woman like Laura in the thrall of a man like Michael. To suddenly have the same kind of logic twisting his own brain was disconcerting. "When will dinner be ready?" Michael asked. "About twenty minutes." Sam took a step away from the table where Michael sat. "I'm going to set the table." Michael smiled a little. "Sure." **** -- ----- Katriena Knights "I don't mind being in touch with reality, as long as I don't have to live there."