When he'd reached for her some hair had fallen into his face so she slowly and carefully reached through the railing to push it away, sure that at any moment he was going to grab her wrist. But he didn't wake up. He was out cold this time, and as she pushed the hair away and really studied his features she gasped in astonishment. This was no demon poltergeist speaking through a lost soul. This was a face she had known, once upon a time, in another life, in another world. She brushed more hair from his face and gently lifted his head from the pavement. "I know you," she whispered. "Todd Manning . . . well, well. What brings you to the end of the line, Mr. Manning? . . . And what are we gonna do with you?"
~~~~~~~~~~
It's when life gets too calm, too easy, that we need to be cautious. The Fates only allow us so many moments of solitude before the next thread is cut and the peaceful little world we've knitted for ourselves begins to slowly unravel. The trick is not getting so tangled up in the yarny mess that you can't stitch it all back together again.
Todd Manning had never been good at picking up pieces. He was good at wreckage and chaos. He thrived on destruction and catastrophe. Breaking, ripping, pulling, tearing, shredding--he could appreciate the majesty in making one royal fucked up mess of his life. He did it again and again; each time a bigger and better fuck-up. Smashing, looting, pillaging…raping, until nothing was left. It was all torn asunder.
What God hath joined, let no man… It was all too broken to fix.
He left Llanview with good intentions. He had offered Téa a year, just one year, to quit being a fuck-up and make things up to her. He wanted to show her that she hadn't made a mistake in marrying him. He wanted her to trust him again. It could be a deal, like before. If he screwed up, well, then she could walk away with a nice wad of cash and he'd…well, he'd probably think up a new deal, but that wasn't going to happen, because he would get it right. For her, he'd get it right if she'd just give him one more chance, just one. But the lies…the lies, the lies, the lies, were all too much for her. She had ripped up the check and turned her head away. He didn't know what else to do then, except leave. Without Téa, what reason did he have to stay?
Viki? How could he face her day after day with the lies between them? She'd been good to him, his Sis, helping him out with…everything, really. Stuff inside his head. She understood his jumbled way of thinking. She had…loved him, he thought. But she surely regretted it all. He knew he'd made her regret it. And what about Sam? Did he really want to know the truth? At Llantano airport that cold November day, almost a year ago, Todd had seen the need in Sam's eyes, he was practically begging for Todd to say it. Just let the truth be a lie and the lie be the truth because the illusions would be easier to live with.
But Starr…his daughter…his everything, leaving her was the hardest part. Out of every single person he'd ever known, ever loved, she was the only one he had never hurt--or who'd never hurt him. She was the only real innocent in all of this. But leaving had seemed like the best thing for her too. As the months wore on he told himself that maybe Blair had been right all those years before. She had said that he would end up hurting Starr. He wouldn't mean to, but he would do it nevertheless. Blair…If there was one thing they shared besides Starr, it was the certain knowledge that the inevitability of their own dark fates could never be outdistanced. Blair loved Starr. He knew that was true even when he wished it wasn't. Blair would take care of her. She'd fight for Starr if need be. She sure as hell had proven that time and again.
It would be hard enough, he reasoned, for Starr to grow up in that town, lousy with Buchanans, with everybody and their mother ready to fill her in on her daddy's dirty past. It wouldn't be easy for his little Shorty. She'd find out some day about all of it…Marty…Spring Fling…the trial…prison…and everything after. When she did find out, when she did learn the truth about her old man, Todd wondered, would she look at him the way Téa, and Sam, and Viki had looked at him after the tape was played? Would her eyes grow dark and vacant? Would she turn her head and walk away from him? Eventually even Starr would realize that she was better off without him. He wanted to believe that Starr would grow up wanting for nothing. He would just fade in her mind and one day the stories about him wouldn't be important because he wouldn't be her daddy anymore, just some stranger--a dream daddy she'd wonder if she made up as a child. She'd forget all about him, right? He was a strong man--stronger than any of the Llanview hypocrites knew. He had survived Peter Manning. He had survived prison. Hell, he had survived every damn day living in his own skin. If he could do that, well then… But losing Starr's love…that would kill him. Even Todd wasn't proud enough to think that he could survive that. So he had left Llanview…and all the demons went with him.
First New York, just because it was a good place to get lost. Then, London, Paris, a couple of months in Italy, then back to the states for awhile--Miami, New Orleans, LA, San Francisco, Seattle--one week here, two or three there. Never really settling anywhere, never letting himself get too comfortable. It was better to stay in motion. If he stopped to think for too long the memories threatened to consume him. So he just kept going. A couple of times he thought maybe, just maybe, he should try that therapy thing Viki wanted him to do. But no place felt comfortable. No place felt like it would be safe enough for very long. And besides, it wouldn't change anything. He'd been through that crap before in prison with Ray. Yeah, it wasn't so bad when it had been just him and Ray talking about stuff, and maybe he could do that again…maybe. But for what? Téa? The private investigators he'd hired to keep him informed about what was going on with Starr and Téa told him his daughter was happy and his wife…ex-wife…was moving on. She had been dating that idiot cop Sykes. Worked for Hank Gannon in the DA's office. She had become a regular little goody-goody and according to the PI, she'd even taken possession of his penthouse so she could fuck her new boyfriend under Todd's own roof.
The thought of her taking other men into his bed just about sent him over the edge. Images of her legs wrapped around another man's body, that man's hands on her, touching her, kissing her, filling her with his… And she, moaning, gasping, loving every minute of it, then the two of them lying together in Todd's bed…laughing at him. The thought of it made him want to hurt someone. It made him want to hurt her. Betraying bitch. He'd teach her just what it meant to belong to Todd Manning. When he was through with her she'd be on her knees begging for his forgiveness. He'd show her… he would…why, he'd… But she wasn't his anymore, maybe she never had been. She had annulled the marriage and walked away from him. So she could fuck whoever she wanted now, even in his own bed.
That news had arrived while he was in Miami, the depth of his anger really frightening him. He had traveled the world, numb to his core for so long, the realization that the demon inside was still clutching for his soul, had terrified Todd. He knew exactly what that demon wanted to do to Téa. He knew exactly what that demon would do if he let it. So he had found a bottle and drowned the demon in booze until it finally forgot what it was angry about, for awhile. Eventually the memories would return and the demon rode with them on the currents in Todd's mind--love, betrayal, love, betrayal, love, sex, betrayal, hope, betrayal, girl, betrayal, wife, mother, love, betrayal, sex, betrayal, sex, betrayal…father… He had to stop that from happening. No good came from remembering.
Sometimes at night he would stand on a dock or pier or beach in whatever town he'd landed in, always by the water, and stare up at the moon. He would think of his mother, gone now. Dead. She had loved the water too. When he was just a kid, before she'd left them for good, sometimes they would take lunch in a big basket and drive to the lake--Lake Michigan--for a picnic. Just the two of them. They walked along the lakefront and she would stare out at the water like she was waiting for something--a signal, a rescue boat, a life raft, anything. She would pace back and forth along the water, drawing lines and circles in the sand with the toe of her shoe, and letting the fingers of her right hand twist and turn the ring on her left. Sometimes she would sigh heavily and Todd, who was usually digging in the muck with a stick or throwing stones into the water, would run to her side.
"What are you thinking about, Mama?" he would ask and then she would smile at him and grab both of his hands in hers and together they would dance around and around and around in circles until they were both so dizzy they couldn't stand. They would fall into a heap on the pebbly sand and she would touch his face in the same way each time, her fingers lightly sweeping across his forehead and then slowly down the side of his face and underneath his chin. She would hold his head in the curve of her palm and she'd close her eyes and say, "God, grant me no memories, so I may live in peace."
He hadn't understood that as a child. He thought she wanted to forget him, and maybe she did for a while, but that wasn't all. Todd had learned that you can't live with only the good memories; you have to take the bad ones too. They're a matched set. To keep one you have to live with the other. But the booze helped. He'd learned that from his mother too.
For a long time things were all right. He spent most of the day blissfully unconscious, no nightmares, no anxiety attacks, usually in a hotel room but sometimes in a house or condo that he'd rented. Whenever he came to, the cycle would begin again--bars, clubs, all night theaters--sometimes he'd just walk the streets with a bottle wrapped in a paper bag. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He just needed to keep his head quiet and the demons at bay. There was a whole other kind of world on the city streets at night. It didn't even matter which city, they each had their own vampire culture. Most people thought it was dangerous to be out on the streets at night, but he'd been a night crawler long enough to know that the night people had their own social rules and their own brand of justice and honor. Sometimes, he'd find a good bar, buy a couple rounds for the place and suddenly he was Mr. Cool. Everybody loved Mr. Cool. Mr. Cool partied all night. Mr. Cool was everyone's buddy. All the ladies loved Mr. Cool. The booze flowed in him, around him, over him, and everything else in his fucked up life was on hold. He didn't have to think about the past. There was no past for Mr. Cool. He didn't have to wonder about the future. Mr. Cool didn't have a future. Mr. Cool lived in the moment and nothing else mattered. Nobody knew Mr. Cool. He came from Nowhere and was going back there someday. There was always a place for Mr. Cool. He was welcome everywhere. New Orleans, LA, San Francisco, Seattle--Mr. Cool was loved in every town. Mr. Cool could go anywhere.
In retrospect, Chicago had probably been a mistake. He never planned on staying. He was headed back to New York with an hour layover in Chicago--it had been the only flight available and he felt like he had to get out of Seattle. October brought an iciness to the northwest drizzle that he didn't like. The rain somehow became crystalline between the air and the earth and would batter his face and hands with staccato bursts of tiny frozen needles. He needed to get out of the rain and cold for a while, he thought. He hadn't been feeling well. It was getting harder and harder to sleep through the daylight hours. He'd been thinking of heading to Greece for a while. Ouzo was supposed to have a real kick.
Of course, as usual, an hour at O'Hare had turned into two and then three until finally his flight was cancelled entirely. Mechanical problems. So the airline put him on another flight, but there was another two hour delay for a seat in first-class. When they cut him off at the airport bar he'd thought, why not? Check out the city. It had been a long time since he'd visited Chicago. A long time.
He got a cab and told the guy to drive--anywhere, wherever--just drive around the city…and don't talk. They drove around a while--Michigan Avenue, Lakeshore Drive, Navy Pier, past the Field Museum and the aquarium, back around Grant Park and past the Art Institute. His mother had taken him there too, when he was just eight. She explained the difference between Impressionism and Pointillism and they looked at an exhibit of medieval armor and weaponry. He had thought the battleaxes were the coolest things he'd ever seen. Wouldn't Daddy like to come with them next time, he'd asked? Then her hands had been on his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin, and she bent down and pulled him close to her. Her eyes had seemed to reach into his own as though she was searching for his soul inside. She spoke in a low whisper tinged with anger and a little desperation, "Never tell your father we were here, Todd. Never. This is just for us, okay? This is just for us." Of course he had agreed without question. There were many things it was safer for Daddy not to know about. Like the phone calls she got…
Driving past the Art Institute, Todd thought of Starr. He'd wanted to bring her here one day when she was older. He'd thought that he and Téa would bring her together and he could surprise them both by explaining the difference between Impressionism and Pointillism. He thought he would surprise them both…love, betrayal, love, betrayal… The litany went on and the next time they passed a bar, he told the driver to stop and Mr. Cool got out.
After he had closed down that bar he made his way through the city streets. His plane had taken off hours ago; he'd lost track of time. It had been a long night, quite a party. Jack, Jim, José--all his buddies had been there, but they had stayed back at the bar and now his plane was gone and he didn't feel drunk enough to try to sleep yet. He walked the streets hoping to run across an after hours club along the way. He wasn't really sure where he was anymore. He felt light inside, like he was filled with helium and he had to push his feet into the pavement with each step or he might float away. Floating away sounded nice though. If only he could just float away, up through the smoke and smog, the clouds and stars, out into the blackness. Maybe he'd swing past the moon before he drifted out into the milky way and beyond.
The street signs seemed so far away. He wasn't seeing very well. He walked along looking for the tell-tale signs of an underground club--girls in next-to-nothing suddenly appearing out of what would otherwise seem to be an abandoned building, steroid-laden Neanderthals camped out in front of an old storefront, the muffled thump-thump-thump of dance and techno music. Wherever he was, the streets seemed quieter around here. Finally, about a block ahead, he saw the familiar fluorescent glow of an all night convenience store. Open 24 hours and stocked with everything a growing boy could need--condoms, cigarettes, burritos, hot dogs on a stick, 64-ounce slurpies in 16 flavors, and his personal favorite lately, 40-ounce bottles of malt liquid therapy. He went in and pulled two cold ones from the cooler and took them up front along with a bag of corn chips and a bottle of aspirin.
The clerk was a youngish woman, her white t-shirt tight and cut low, frosted hair, blue eye shadow the color of forget-me-nots. She rang up his purchase. She kept glancing over to him every couple of seconds, eyeing him suspiciously. His hands were shaking as he dug through his pockets for some cash. The light feeling was gone, the helium inside seemingly replaced with lead. He knew he hadn't shaved for a while and he probably needed a shower. If he looked half as shitty as he felt he must look pretty bad, but who the hell was some bottle blonde Stop 'n Go clerk to judge him? She probably did blow jobs in the back room for ten bucks a pop.
"What the hell do you think you're looking' at bitch!?" he shouted at the woman. She slammed the register drawer and threw his change on the counter before taking a long step back. He picked up the change and threw it back at her, feeling suddenly powerful. Released. He leaned across the counter then and let the gruffness in his voice evolve into the demon growl, the kind that had put the fear of god into more than one useless slut before this one. "I said, what the fuck do you think you're looking at you worthless little cunt?" There was nobody else in the store. Outside night was slowly fading into day and despite his best efforts to slake its thirst, the demon in Todd's soul was clawing for a taste of something. The booze worked like methadone, keeping the monster on a leash, but the need for the true fix, the real drug, was always there.
She answered him then, "I think I'm lookin' at nothin', mister. A whole lotta nothin'." Her voice was calm, but her eyes couldn't hold his gaze. They darted about, past him, left and right, as she silently worked out how she might get around him. But there was no way out. The stock room was at the back of the store behind him and in order to get to the front exit she would have to get around the counter and past him. There was no way out and they both knew it. The demon knew it too…and he liked it.
The thought of reaching across the counter and slamming her trashy little face into the No-Doz display had just slipped through Todd's mind, when he suddenly realized why she had taken such a long step away from him. From a shelf behind her she had surreptitiously taken hold of a wooden baseball bat, the handle wrapped in hockey tape for a better grip. She held it aloft in front of her like a sword and said, "My shift's almost over, man. I don't want any trouble. If you leave there won't be any trouble."
Just then, from the back room, there came the startled cry of an infant waking. It broke the demon's spell on Todd and he whirled in the direction of the child's cry. Whatever fears the clerk had had vanished with the potential threat Todd seemed to pose to her infant child. She was around the counter, past Todd and between him and the stock room with a quickness and surety he had never seen before.
"YOU GET OUT NOW! GET OUT AND LEAVE US ALONE!" she had screamed at him, still holding the bat ready to strike at any moment. Todd knew she would do it too. He had no doubt that she would protect that child from him--to the death if need be.
"I-I-I wouldn't hurt your kid…I…lady, I'm sorry…lady…I'm kinda…I'm drunk, you know…I'm sorry…sorry." The words came out more like a prayer than an apology. He grabbed his bag and backed away from her toward the exit. When he was all the way out she rushed for the door and turned the lock before throwing the top and bottom dead bolts. From across the street Todd watched as she cradled the bat in her arms and slowly sank to the floor, her face dissolving in tears of sadness and relief. She just sat there, her face aglow in a fluorescent blaze, staring out into the comparatively feeble light of the new dawn. And Todd thought to himself, I did that.
He turned then and walked along the street looking for some shelter from the daylight. No five star hotels, no high-rise apartments, just some dark corner where he could put the demon back to sleep and try to forget who he was, what he was, what he would always be, and why he'd never have her back.
He walked in the cold light of the October dawn until he came across a heating grate tucked into a dark corner by an old building. He curled up on the iron grate, pulled his long coat tightly around him and downed both bottles of booze one after the other. There he stayed, in the gutter, where he belonged. The Chicago wind marched down the city streets during the day, beating and pummeling anyone and anything it came across, but he didn't feel it. At night the temperature dropped to freezing and if it hadn't been for the sporadic bursts of hot air from the iron grate he probably would have died from exposure, but he didn't care. Everything was gone, everything that mattered. His father had always told him he was a waste of good oxygen. Now, Todd knew it was true.
He knew it was cold but he couldn't feel it. For so long he had seemed to feel everything in excess, and now he couldn't feel anything. Nothing at all. Everything became a blur and Todd thought that he must be dying. He was sure of it. For a moment, just a split second, he even thought he had seen his mother. There was no white light, no angels singing. Hell, he thought, This must be hell. But why would she be here, his mama? He tried to call out to her, his voice not working well, the cold air and months of binge drinking taking their toll. He wanted to get to her. He thought if he reached out he could touch her and see if she was real. Was she here to lead him to heaven or hell? But she recoiled from his touch. She backed away from him, looked at him like…the demon…the demon that he was. He closed his eyes then so he couldn't see his diseased reflection in hers. He felt himself slipping away. Wherever he was going, his mother wouldn't be waiting for him. But as he drifted further out of the realm of consciousness he thought he felt her hands on his face, her beautiful, fine hands cupping his face in her palm, and he thought the words she should say, God, grant me no memories, so that I may die in peace.
