Wish we could turn back time
To the good old days
When our mama sang us to sleep
But now we’re stressed out
Wish we could turn back time
To the good old days
When our mama sang us to sleep
But now we’re stressed out
– Stressed Out, Twenty One Pilots

---

Thursday, January 4, 2018

Studio

Franco jerked awake with a gasp and a jolt of his heart, his hand curling over the back of the sofa where he’d slept, blinking rapidly. He stumbled to his feet, crossing the room to the sink on the far wall. He twisted the knob and dunked his entire head beneath the streaming water, shaking himself not just awake, but back to sanity.

Another strange, disturbing dream where images swirled and mixed with one another. Chasing after a small toddler, falling, then his wrists being twisted, held back, his legs pulled straight—

He squeezed his eyes closed, raked his fingers through his damp hair, digging the tips into his scalp. What the hell was going on in his mind and how did he stop it? The last time he’d had dreams like this — he’d buried what he’d believed to be the body of his mother, eager to rid the world of her poisonous presence and the suffocating way she showed her so-called love. Burying her had brought back too many other memories that he wanted to stay dead and gone.

He wasn’t that man anymore. Couldn’t be that man. New lease on life. Second chances. He’d slid back a little with Carly, but he’d moved forward, hadn’t he? And with Elizabeth. Hadn’t Elizabeth shown him there was something inside worth saving?

Until she left you.

Just like Carly.

They all leave you.

Franco exhaled slowly, reached for a towel to blot his face dry. No. No. That wasn’t why he was keeping tabs on Elizabeth, not why he was trying to stay close. He just wanted to be there when it fell apart. Maybe he’d enjoy it if she groveled for him to forgive her—who wouldn’t? And maybe he wouldn’t take her back. But it didn’t mean he was slipping into his old ways. The tumor. Everyone told him the tumor had made him that way. He wasn’t Robert Frank anymore. He had a family. He had friends.

He took another deep breath. The dreams would go away. They always did. He just had to stay strong.

Davis House: Living Room

Alexis peered over her reading glasses as Kristina waltzed into the living room. “I thought you were starting at the hospital this week?”

“Next week.” Kristina sat in the armchair, watched her mother return to her paperwork. “Working on Sam’s divorces?”

“Mmm, Diane messengered over the completed divorce papers for Drew—” Alexis tapped her pen against the paper. “You were supposed to stop at your sister’s yesterday. How was she?”

“Arguing with Dad.” Kristina made a face. “Pretty vicious fight. I didn’t realize Dad was so negative about her. I thought they were friends.”

Alexis sighed, sat up, and put her paperwork aside, then removed her glasses. “Your father has a short temper and not a lot of patience when it comes to the people he cares about. Sam…she’s taking positions in the divorce from Jason that are difficult.”

“I don’t know about any of that, but Dad was saying stuff about the night Jason came back. Did you know he went to the penthouse first?”

“No. No, I didn’t. But it makes sense. That was his home. More than it was Sam’s,” Alexis admitted. “He lived there for ten years.”

“Yeah, and Sam got upset. I guess she just… thought Jason didn’t make any attempt to talk to her or see her when he got back, but from his perspective, if he came to the penthouse, saw all the stuff with Drew and Scout, and then she went home with him that night—” Kristina bit her lip. “Do you think Sam knew that night?”

“I do,” Alexis said after a moment. “Everyone did. But she made a choice.”

“She was upset about what Dad said. Accusing her of wanting them both. And with Drew leaving last week, I don’t know. Do you think maybe Dad’s right? Maybe Sam is more torn about the whole thing than she thought she was? Michael told me about the divorce papers. She’s asking for half of everything and refusing custody on Danny. I don’t know a lot about divorces, but stuff like that—yeah, it’s nuclear, but it’s also…it’ll make the divorce last longer, won’t it?”

“It could. I don’t know how she’s feeling about Jason these days. She closed down very early about all of this, Kristina. And a lot of things have come back up these days about Sam’s past.” Alexis lifted her brows. “About things she did that she regrets now.”

“Sleeping with Ric and standing by while Jake got kidnapped,” Kristina said bluntly. Alexis made a face. “Yeah, I overheard that, too.”

“Kristina—”

“I just wish I could get inside her head. You didn’t see her, Mom. She looked so upset about what Dad said to her. She refused to talk about it, but—”

“She wouldn’t tell me what she and Sonny had said,” Alexis said. “Only that he’d been there, and she didn’t want him back. What you’ve said—well, it explains a lot. Do I have your permission to bring it up to her?”

“Yeah, it’s not like things with me and Sam can’t get worse. I mean, I’m doing my best, Mom. With everything I know now. Because it’s easier for you and Molly. But I don’t like how Sam’s handling this.”

“I’m not wild about it either, but I don’t really have much of a choice.”

Aurora Media: Drew’s Office

Monica pasted a smile on her face as Drew’s secretary showed her into his office. “Thank you,” she told her.

She then faced Drew as he rose to his feet and came around the desk. She hadn’t seen him in almost a week. Not since that day when he’d very quietly asked a simple question.

Did you ever look for me?

She’d so badly wanted to tell him yes. She’d wanted to find him a thousand times over the years, had thought of elaborate ways to explain how Drew had ended up lost to the system—in those terrible days after the accident, when Jason had been lost to them, she’d wanted to find him. After losing Emily. After AJ.

She’d thought of Andrew Moore so many times, but something had always stopped her from looking too hard. From doing more than asking Tracy to find him. And sometimes she wondered if Tracy maybe hadn’t looked so hard either.

“Monica.” Drew’s eyes were wary as he approached. “I wasn’t expecting you today.” Or any other day, his gaze seemed to say.

“I’m glad you were able to make time for me.” Her fingers tightened around her clutch purse. “I’ve struggled these last few months, I suppose, with how to make sense of what’s happened. And sometimes it’s easier to avoid an uncomfortable situation than it is to deal with it.”

“I certainly understand that. Do you—do you want some coffee? Some water—” He gestured to the beverage bar tucked away in a corner.

“No, I have to be at the hospital. But I wanted to talk to you about New Year’s.” She took a deep breath. “When you asked if I ever looked for you.”

“You want to talk about that?” Drew lifted his brows. “Really?”

“Yes. Because I fear—” Her lips pressed together. “It’s very much my fault what happened when you were children. And, you know, your father shares some blame. You have to understand, Alan and I were in such a fragile place in our relationship. I’d hurt him so dreadfully by having my own affair, but I told myself it wasn’t that bad. I had given into temptation with a man I thought I’d love forever. I’d wanted to marry Rick Webber once before we thought he was dead.” Monica rubbed her chest. “But Alan’s affair with Susan felt like revenge. Like he wanted to make me pay. And we were both wrong, of course. And I made it very clear to him I didn’t want Jason—the product of that affair—anywhere near me.” Her eyes burned. “Even after she’d died, I was mortified and furious that he was even concerning himself with Jason’s welfare.”

“Monica, you don’t—”

“No, you have to understand that I look back at that woman, that version of myself, and it horrifies me. Jason was a child, just a baby really. And maybe if I had been more accepting,” she said slowly, “Edward might not have fought so hard against the trust fund that was set up. And maybe Susan wouldn’t have hidden you away, if that’s what she did. I’ll never understand why she did that—if you’re right, and she knew. I never—I don’t understand it, Drew. But if I had been a better person, you would have been ours.” She met his gaze. “You must believe that if we could have brought you home, we would have. It would have been the delight of Alan’s life to have another child.”

“I do believe that,” Drew said after a long moment. “I believe that if you could have found me and made me part of the family, you would have done that.” He came to her, took her hands in his. “But someone made me disappear into the system.” His eyes, so sober, so serious, so like Lila and Jason. Oh, this man really was Alan’s son.

How could she have done this to him—how could she have let Alan die and never know about little Andrew. He’d gone to his grave, never knowing there was another son out there.

“Yes. And someone was wrong. Very wrong. But that happened a long time ago,” Monica told him. “I don’t want you to be haunted by a terrible choice made when you were a baby. We have so much more now. You have this investigation into the Cassadines, and the children. Danny and Scout. And Oscar. And Jason. You have each other now. I hope that you and Jason will find a way to be the brothers that you couldn’t before.”

Drew smiled thinly, dropped her hand. “I want that, too. And I don’t want to lose what I have by looking for answers about my childhood.”

“Oh. Good. Good then.” She licked her lips. “So, then, we’ll have dinner or lunch or something. Sometime soon.”

“Of course.” He kissed her cheek. “Thank you for coming today.”

“Thank for you listening.”

Devane Manor: Living Room

Anna tossed a file on the sofa and scowled at the phone in her hand. “No, I don’t bloody well understand, Frisco, why you can’t give us any help—”

Frisco’s voice wafted from her speaker phone. “I’m doing the best I can, Anna. I’m not a dictator. I report to other people, you know. And they don’t want this coming out—”

“It’s too late for that. Look, I’m not even asking for much. I just want to question Andre. At every turn, Frisco, we learn that the alliance between Victor and Helena was deeper than we suspected. We still can’t get into Andre’s files, but Helena’s? They’re filed with internal WSB memos—”

“Anna—”

“Who knows how deep that corruption runs? What if it didn’t start with Victor? We’ll never know until we get more cooperation. It’ll take months to sift through Helena’s damn files. If we could get to Andre—”

“He won’t cooperate, Anna. Not without getting something in return—”

“I told you to leave him in Port Charles and in state prison until we’d questioned him thoroughly and extracted all he knew—but you barely gave me more than a week—” Anna sank onto the sofa. “Do you feel nothing for this situation? No guilt? You were actively working for WSB when this happened.”

Frisco was quiet for a long moment. “I understand your frustration. I do. And I don’t like this stain any more than you do. We’ve given our time, our energy, our lives to this agency. I gave up my family. My girls. I can never get any of that back, Anna. But even if I could get you in to see Andre, he’d never tell you more than he already has. There’s no reason for him to.”

“Well, then I will find a reason to make him, Frisco, and when I do, you will let me in to see him. I won’t be taking no for an answer.”

Port Charles High: Classroom

“Tennyson wrote the ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ in dactylic meter—”

The words of his English teacher drifted past Oscar as he looked out the window, towards the trees with their bare branches and snow drifts in the parking lot. He was supposed to have dinner with his father tomorrow, and it had been rolling around in his head for the last two days. Should he go? What was the point if Drew didn’t remember who he was? Did Oscar really want to keep putting himself through it, to keep looking at a face that didn’t belong to his dad, but hearing his voice, and knowing that it wouldn’t change anything—

“Can anyone tell me what poem was written about the Light Brigade much later? Oscar?”

Oscar blinked, focused on his teacher. “What?”

The teacher smirked, knowing he’d caught Oscar red-handed not paying attention. “The poem written about the Light Brigade after Tennyson?”

“Oh.” Oscar furrowed his brow. “Uh, Kipling. He wrote the ‘Last of the Light Brigade’ in 1890. It was supposed to be a response to the way military veterans were being treated in England.”

The teacher lost his smirk. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Because Tennyson was all, like, Honor the Light Bridge, and calling them noble — because of how hard they’d fought against the odds. But Kipling—he opened his poem talking about all the millions who talked about the noble glory, but that didn’t stop twenty veterans from not having anything to eat.”

“That’s—” The teacher made a face. “That’s very astute, Mr. Nero.”

Oscar wanted to roll his eyes because the guy sounded surprised. “Yeah, but most people didn’t pay attention to Kipling’s poem. No one ever pays attention to the guys that were crushed in war. They talk about supporting the troops and enjoying all the stuff you get from winning the war, but the actual soldiers who carry it out?” Oscar shrugged. “Collateral damage. He was calling out the hypocrisy.”

“He certainly was. But Tennyson’s poem is well remembered for other reasons—” The teacher returned to his lecture, and Oscar tuned back out. Next to him, Cameron mouthed the words you okay. Oscar nodded, then slid his phone out of his pocket, and held it beneath his desk. He scrolled to his contacts.

No one was paying attention to his stepmother, to Kim. Even Oscar had forgotten about her in the excitement and misery of having his father be alive, but not really back. Drew had acted like she didn’t exist, and Kim had just soldiered on. Doing the hard work of raising Oscar, being his family when he didn’t have anyone else.

And now his dad was throwing it away like she didn’t matter. Like Kim wasn’t a real person, just a name on a piece of paper standing in the way of whatever his dad really wanted. Kim hadn’t made any scenes, hadn’t raged, or tried to force Drew to come back to her. And she was still getting the shit end of the stick. It wasn’t fair, and Oscar wasn’t going to let it happen.

He quickly typed a message, hit send, and put his phone away just as the teacher looked back in their direction.

Sorry. Something came up. Have to reschedule.

Westwood Academy: Parking Lot

Sam strapped Danny into his booster seat, then checked on Scout in her car seat next to her brother. “Did you have a good day?” she asked.

“Yeah, I got moved up to the top of the clip chart,” Danny reported, then he grinned wide. Sam started to smile back, but then looked at her son just a little more closely. Maybe it was having Jason back — his face and his voice — but Danny looked so much like him in that moment. The sweet smile — so rarely seen — the blue eyes.

What would their lives have been like if Jason hadn’t left for the pier that night? Would they have made it? Would she have been able to look past the hurt and anger that had sent them to divorce court in the first place? Or would it have always hung between them? Was Jason right? Would it have ended anyway?

What if he’d come to the penthouse two months ago and she’d seen him? What if she’d known he’d come to her first?

“Mommy? Are we going home?”

Sam nodded, then touched Danny’s cheek. “You got moved to the top of the clip chart? That deserves a reward. Why don’t we stop and get something?”

← Chapter 47 | Chapter 49 →