THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD

                                                         

 

By:  Kenda

 

 

 

*An Alternate Universe Story to the 7th Season Aired Episode - May The Road Rise Up

 

 

********

 

 

     A man stood by the front windows in the elaborately furnished drawing room.  He parted the lace curtains just enough to see out, being careful not to allow anyone to see in.  He watched as the limousine pulled into the circular driveway, coming to a stop by the front step.  A distinguished looking gray-headed gentleman exited the back of the long vehicle, briefcase in hand.  The limo driver pulled away before the man had a chance to enter his expansive residence.

 

     The man standing in the drawing room let the curtains fall shut.  He moved to a secluded corner of the room. 

 

     The gray-headed gentleman entered his home, putting his briefcase on a small table in the foyer before looking through the mail his housekeeper had left there for him.  Nothing required his immediate attention, so he placed the mail back on the table, then walked into the drawing room.  He approached the small bar in the far corner and began mixing himself a drink. 

 

     "I could use one of those, too, if you don't mind.  Though I never did go in for the hard stuff the way you do.  A glass of that vintage red wine you keep would be wonderful.  Or one of those beers you import from Germany and serve in a chilled mug."

 

     The glass in the man's hand dropped to the floor, shattering.

 

     The intruder stepped out from the shadows of the large, potted palms.  "Sorry, Matt.  Didn't mean to scare you like that."

 

     Matthew Haskell looked as though he was seeing a ghost.  "Jack?"  He whispered, while moving out from behind the bar for a closer look.

 

     Jack Simon chuckled sadly.  "I haven't heard anyone call me that, in what?  Almost thirty-five years now?   As you well know, officially speaking, Jack Simon is dead.  He has been for a long time now.   You can refer to me as. . .oh, let's see - Ellis, David, Bradford, Alan, Thane, or a number of other names I've used over the years.  How about my favorite?  Richard Andrews.  I bet you can't guess where I got that one from."

 

     "Jack...don't."

 

     "Don't?  Don't what?  Sound bitter?  Sound angry because my life was taken away from me?  Because my wife and children were taken away from me?"   

 

     "You agreed to it," Matt gently reminded.  "As a matter of fact, it was your idea."

 

     Jack Simon's shoulders slumped in defeat.  "And that's what makes the pill all the more bitter to swallow as each year passes."

 

     Matt indicated to his old friend to sit down on the sofa.  It was then that he took note of the passing years.  Jack Simon was still a handsome man by anyone's standards, still trim and muscular at sixty-nine years old.  But the face showed the telltale signs of aging everyone's does as time marches on.  And there was a sadness, a loneliness about the eyes, that told Matt how hard these past thirty-three years had been on Jack.  The boyish blond hair was also losing its hue, gray taking its place as Jack's predominate hair color now.  The hairline had receded a bit, too, the way the hairlines of most men do as they age.  The trademark moustache was still present, though virtually gray, as well. 

 

     Matt moved back to the bar, returning after a moment with the remembered dark, rich German beer poured in an icy cold mug.

 

     Jack smiled as he accepted the drink.

 

     "You look well, Jack," Matt appraised of his physically fit friend.

 

     "No, Matt, I look old.  Just like you look old.  As a matter of fact, I didn't realize how old I did look, until I saw you coming up the walk a few minutes ago.  The first thing I thought was, ‘Oh shit, if that old geezer's Haskell, then I must be an old geezer, too.’"

 

     "Same old Jack,” Matt laughed.  “Always ready to make a joke at your own expense."

 

     The smile faded from Jack's eyes as he looked at his friend over the top of his mug.  "It's how I've survived all these years.  By making jokes at my own expense."

 

     Matt merely nodded his understanding. 

 

     The two men sat savoring their drinks for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts of their past friendship, and of that night thirty-three years earlier. 

 

     Matt finally rose to mix himself another drink.  Tonight he was definitely going to allow himself two...maybe even three.  "How about another beer?"  He offered.

 

     "No.  I'm fine.  Thanks."

 

     Matt eyed his old friend as he made himself another martini.  "How'd you get in here without being detected?"

 

     "I wasn't the head of security at Nemesis for nothing, you know.   Plus, I've done a large variety of...security work since that time," was all Jack would confess to.

 

     "You're lucky my housekeeper leaves at noon on Wednesday’s.  Otherwise she'd have been screaming bloody murder and calling the police if you'd snuck up on her the way you did me."

 

     Jack smiled slyly.  "I was well aware that your housekeeper leaves at noon on Wednesday's.  And that the gardener is here on Monday's and Friday's, and that the pool man is here on Thursday's."

 

     An astonished Matt asked, "How did you find all...never mind.  Like I said before, same old Jack."

 

     Matt came back to his seat on the sofa.  "As much as I'd like to believe you came by here for the sole purpose of rehashing old times with me, I have a feeling it involves a lot more than that."

 

     Jack nodded.   "I want to see Cece and the boys."

 

     "I was afraid you were going to say that," Matt admitted, then shook his head. "Jack, you know that's not possible.  You knew when you left thirty-three years ago, that it would never be possible."

 

     Jack's fist came down hard on the arm of the sofa.  He shot off the couch, pacing the room in pent up anger.

 

"Yes, and I was also told that someone would keep me regularly informed as to how they were doing!  That someone would keep me up-to-date regarding the goings on in my boys' lives!  I don't call two sentences every ten or twelve years up-to-date!"  Jack whirled, turning on his old friend with accusing anger.   "You said you'd let me know, Matt!  You promised to keep me informed about my family!  And not once, not one goddamn time did you even drop me a postcard!  Not one time in thirty-three years!"

 

     "Jack...Jack, please...I know.  I'm sorry."

 

     Jack stared at the seated man.  "You're sorry?  That's it?  You're sorry?"

 

     "Jack, please.  Sit down.  Please, just sit down and listen to me," Matt Haskell attempted to calm.

 

     When Jack could see that Matt wasn't going to speak again until he reseated himself, he did as his friend requested, perching stiffly on the edge of the sofa. 

 

     "Jack, after we helped you...disappear, they were too close.  For a long time myself, Drapper, Hamlin, and the big guys in Washington, feared the enemy hadn't fallen for your ‘death.’  We knew I was being watched, so was Vern Drapper.  They were watching your parent's home, and even the homes of some of your close friends like the Wellses, and the Krelmins."

 

     "Michael?  And Bud, too?"  Jack asked with disbelief, not realizing until today how much the enemy had known about him.                 

     Matt nodded gravely.  "But what really scared me was the fact that for a year they watched Cece and the boys.  The day two of our men observed one of their operatives follow Cecilia and the boys to the beach, was the day I knew we were going be lucky if they ever stopped looking for you."

 

     Jack shook his head in dismay.  "But no one ever told me.  All they said was that everything had gone off without a hitch.  That everything was fine."

 

     Matt shrugged.  "What else could they tell you?  If they'd told you things looked suspicious, you'd have done everything in your power to get back here to protect your family.  If you'd done that, Jack - and you know you would have - if you'd done that you would have been killed.  And they would have taken Cecilia and the boys with you without giving it a second thought."

 

     "Yes, they would have," Jack softly acknowledged, recalling the reason why his death had been faked in the first place - for the sole purpose of keeping his wife and sons safe.

 

     "But there must have come a time when they stopped watching.  When you felt they were convinced I was out of the picture for good.  Why didn't you contact me then?  Why didn't you let me know how Cece and the boys were doing?"

 

     With a hint of anger to his tone, Matt confessed, "They wouldn't let me."

 

     "Who wouldn't let you?"

 

     "Our guys.  The government.  They had...concerns."

 

     "What kind of concerns?"  The enraged Jack asked, beginning to realize that there had been a lot he hadn't been told, or at least not truthfully told, over the past thirty odd years.

 

     "I don't know.  They would never tell me.  All I was repeatedly told was that there was still danger.  I tried to find out where you were, where they had sent you.  Hell, I appealed to practically everyone but Dwight D. Eisenhower himself, and I would have done that if I could have gotten an audience with him.  All I wanted to do was drop you a few lines like I had promised.  Let you know that A.J. had started first grade, and that Rick had broken his wrist riding his bicycle.  But I was told it wasn't possible.  That I wasn't to have any contact with you, and that someone would pass the message on to you."

 

     "No one ever did," Jack stated bitterly.

 

     "I didn't think so," Matt sighed.  "I never did find out if they thought someone was still watching me, and were therefore concerned about your safety, and the safety of Cece and the boys, or if they just wanted to...sweep it all under the rug and let bygones be bygones.  Let everyone start over with their new lives."

 

     Jack stared into his beer.  "I imagine that was it.  I've come to learn in my fifty years of service, that our government is not generally sympathetic in matters such as these."

 

     "I've learned that, as well, my old friend," Matt agreed.  "But why, Jack?  Why show up now after all these years?"

 

     "This was my first opportunity for one thing.  I've been so many places in the past thirty-three years, I can't even name them all.  Some have been so remote I'd venture to guess even you don't know they exist.  Some of the places I've been I've only stayed a day or two, others I've stayed several years. And always, the government made sure I was far away from here."

 

     "How'd you end up back here now?"

 

     Jack smiled.  "Let's just say I saw a crack and slipped through it."

 

     “Oh, great.” Matt rolled his eyes. "Then let's just say if you get caught here, both our asses will be in slings."

 

     "That's about the size of it," Jack agreed with a grin.

 

     Matt nursed his drink a moment, studying the mischievous eyes of his old friend.  "I don't think I like the sound of this."

 

     Jack reached over and clapped Matt on the shoulder.  "Come on, Matt, you'll love it.  It'll be just like old times.  Where's your sense of adventure?"

 

     "It left me one night thirty-three years ago," was all Matt would say.

 

     Jack merely nodded, Matt's words having put a damper on his light-hearted spirits of a moment earlier.

 

     "I didn't like what we had to do, Jack.  To this day I still carry a great deal of regret concerning the way we had to deceive Cecilia.  I have much sorrow in my heart over the fact that your boys had to grow up without a father.  And most of all, I hurt for you, my friend.  For the pain and loneliness that I know has been your constant companion."

 

     "We had no choice, Matt," Jack whispered.  "We had no choice.  And as you said, it was my idea.  There was no other way."

 

     Matt Haskell thought back to the night so many years earlier, when in the confusion of an explosion and gunfire, the decision was made that for all intents and purposes Jack Simon must die.  Work on a highly classified government project brought Jack knowledge that others were willing to kill for.  A member of the team Jack and Matt worked with found a piece of paper in the pocket of a dead enemy agent, that translated read roughly, ‘We must get Simon and make him talk.  We must know what he knows.  Start a plan in motion to kidnap his wife and children.  He'll talk if he knows we have them.  When we get the information we want we'll kill him, her, and the children, as well.  The whole family must die.’

 

     It was upon reading that slip of paper that Jack knew he had no choice but to disappear for good.  He couldn't risk the lives of Cecilia and his boys.  He knew the enemy wouldn't stop looking for him until he was dead, so it was then that he came to the conclusion that his death would have to be staged.  He had never dreamed that when he had walked out the door of his home that February morning in 1954, that he'd never walk back in.

 

     "For a while I harbored the hope that someday I could return," Jack said, breaking into Matt's thoughts.  "That long before my boys were grown, I could come back to them.  But it never worked out that way.  Our government saw to that," Jack ended bitterly.

 

     Matt studied his friend for a moment before saying, "Jack, forgive me for asking this, but in all these years you've never started over?  There's never been...someone else in your life?"

 

     "You mean another woman?"

 

     "Yes."

 

     Jack hesitated before admitting, "There have been women over the years that I've been close to, yes.  But for the most part, it was a...physical attraction, nothing more.  I was lonely, Matt.  And hurting.  For so long I've been alone and hurting."

 

     "You don't have to justify it to me.  I understand."

 

     "I know.  But sometimes I have to justify it to myself.  There was one woman once, several years back now.  What we had between us was...serious.  Special.  She was twenty years my junior.  She wanted children.  For a while I thought it was possible."  Jack broke into a sad smile.  "I even went so far as to begin to hope for two little boys.  She didn't know the details of my past, of course, but she did know I had been forced to leave a family behind.  She promised me I'd have a family again."

 

     "Why didn't you start a new life with her?" 

 

     Jack looked off into the distance.  "I...don't really know.  For a lot of reasons, I suppose.  The nature of the work I do hasn't really changed in all the years I've been gone.  I feared that what had happened once, could happen again.  That I might once again find myself in a position where I had to leave a wife and children.  I didn't want to ever put myself through that again, nor put another woman through that again.  And I knew this time I couldn't bear to leave any children behind.  I did that once.  I'll be damned if I'll ever do it again."

 

     Matt merely nodded, not knowing what to say to his friend that would be of any help.

 

     "And so, now I come home to find you on my doorstep, or rather, in my house.  Why, Jack?"

 

     "I need your help, Matt.  I want to see Cece and the boys before...well, before the government boobs that I know are looking for me find me."

 

     "Have you thought this through?  My God, man, you can't just walk into your old house and yell, 'Honey, I'm home!'  And as for the boys...Jack, they're not boys anymore.  They're grown men.  What are you going to do, walk up to them and say, "Hi, you don't recognize me, but the last time we were together you called me Daddy."

 

     "No, Matt, that's not what I was planning.  I told you, I just want to see them.  By ‘see them’ I mean that phrase literally.  Just...see them, that's all."

 

     Matt began to shake his head no.  "You say that now, but do you really think 'seeing’ them, will be enough?"

 

     "It's going to have to be," Jack answered quietly.  "I already know it's going to have to be."

 

     "Why don't you try again?  And this time tell me the truth," Matt said with an intent stare.

 

     "What do you mean by that?"  Jack fished.

 

     "You know exactly what I mean."

 

     Jack Simon leaned casually back against the couch, studying his old friend for a long moment, gauging just how much the other knew.  He reached into his pants pocket, unfolding a newspaper article dated two days earlier.  He passed it over to Matt.

 

     Matthew Haskell looked down at the front-page headline.

 

Well-known Local Private Investigator Found Shot In His Office.  Hospitalized In Critical Condition.

 

     Matt had no need to read any further; he was very familiar with the article and the circumstances surrounding it.

 

     "Now it's your turn to tell me the truth, Matt," Jack said pointedly.

 

     When Matt remained silent, Jack continued with, "I know my son wasn't shot by a burglar like that article states.  I have a feeling that whatever information was given to the press was deliberately falsified.  I am well aware that their operatives have been tailing my boys.  Now I want to know why."

 

     Matt couldn't meet his friend's gaze.  He looked away, confessing, "It's my fault."

 

     "What's your fault?"

 

     "I'm dying, Jack."

 

     Jack Simon did a double take, caught off-guard by this sudden announcement.  "You're what?" 

 

     Matt looked back at Jack with a sad smile on his face.  "I'm dying.  Liver cancer.  At the outside I've got another year, though the doctors tell me it could be as little as six months."

 

     Sorrow etched Jack Simon's features.  "Matt...I'm sorry.  I...I didn't know."

 

     "You have no reason to be sorry.  How could you have known?  Besides, I have no regrets.  I'm seventy-one years old.  I've lived a full life, had my share of triumphs and joys...and sorrows as well, I suppose.  I've made a success of myself, seen my children grow to adulthood and have children of their own, buried a beloved wife and precious grandson.  I've completed the circle, my friend.  And now it's time for the circle to close."

 

     "But...but, I don't understand what this – your health - has to do with the shooting at the boys' office."

 

     "Maybe nothing.  Maybe everything.  Maybe we'll never know."

 

     "What--"

 

     "When a man's been told his days here on earth are numbered, he finds himself needing closure in regards to certain aspects of his life.  Do you know in all my years as a father I never once told my kids I loved them?  I took it for granted they knew.  After all, they grew up in this beautiful home on the ocean, were sent to the best private schools money could buy, were given anything they asked for, and a lot of things they didn't.  But two months ago when I talked to each of them privately and told them how much I loved them, they cried, Jack.  They honest-to-God cried.  Turns out that's all they ever really wanted from me.  How do you like that? 

 

     "So...in my quest to tie up the loose ends in my life, I sold the Buick on consignment to a dealer here in San Diego.  It had been sitting up on blocks locked in the old carriage house for all these years, never moved since the night you disappeared."

 

     "But why, Matt?  Why to a dealer here in San Diego of all places?"

 

     "Because deep down, I guess I wanted your boys to accidentally run across it.  I wanted to give them some kind of a sign of your existence, even if it was only the memory an old car might bring forth.  I felt like after thirty-three years, maybe it was time they knew the truth, or at least part of it.  And somewhere in that truth, they'd discover that their father loved them so much that he was forced to make the ultimate sacrifice in order to protect them.  That sacrifice being to disappear from their lives forever."

 

     "And that's what happened, isn't it?  My boys saw that car."

 

     Matt smiled.  "Yes, they did.  And one night I came home from work much like I did tonight, to find my house already occupied by two strong-willed gentlemen who were demanding some answers. Your sons are more like you than you could ever imagine, Jack.  I hadn't seen them for at least twenty years, maybe longer, but I'd have known A.J. anywhere.  He looks exactly like you, minus the moustache.  And Rick...well, Rick has your smart mouth and bravado.  Though I suspect that deep down inside, he's a softie just like his old man."

 

     "There's so much I've missed out on," Jack whispered, looking at the picture that accompanied the newspaper article. 

 

     "How much do you know about them?"

 

     "Bits and pieces," Jack answered.  "I know Rick drifted from one thing to another after high school, then joined the Marine Corps.  I know he made sergeant, served bravely and honorably in Vietnam, was awarded several medals for various deeds done, including the Purple Heart.  I know he could have gone on to have a good career with the military, but left after four years of service.  I know he's had some hard times over the years that are directly related to his service in Vietnam. 

 

     "As far as Andy goes, I know he graduated with honors from college.  I know he went on to law school and passed the bar exam on the first try.  I also know he's never practiced law.  Somehow, I don't know the details, but somehow he got into private investigation work, came to have a great love for it, and eventually got Rick involved in it, too.  Seven years ago they both moved back here from Florida and opened their own business."

 

     "And are considered to be the best P.I.'s in San Diego," Matt supplied.  "Or so their reputation goes.  I got a taste of their tactics when they showed up here unannounced.  Based on that encounter, I'd say they're good at what they do."

 

     "And you think they ended up asking too many questions of the wrong people in regards to the sudden appearance of that car?" 

 

     "That's my assumption.  I only gave them vague answers, of course, surrounding their questions about the car.  But I heard through the government grapevine that they were investigating your death, and rapidly coming to the conclusion that you might yet be alive.  I'm afraid our old enemies have long memories, and that your boys stirred up a stew that we thought had long ago simmered down."

 

     "Do you think my son was shot by one of their operatives looking for information?"

 

     "I don't think it, I know it.  As you already guessed, the information released to the press was falsified.  He was severely beaten before he was shot.  Evidently they were trying to get information out of him he either didn't know, or wasn't about to give up.  Why they didn't kill him, I don't know.  Maybe it was all just a warning to us.  Or maybe something went wrong at the last minute and they were about to be discovered.  Or maybe they thought he was dead.  I've been working on getting answers to those questions.  But, as you can imagine, we're pursuing the matter in a very delicate way.  We don't want to risk putting Cecilia or the boys in any more danger.  Nor you.  We've been laying low, waiting to see what their next move will be."

 

     "Who's we?"

 

     "The government, of course.  The hospital's swarming with agents, though very few people know it.  A good number of the nurses, orderlies, janitors, and doctors on your son's floor, work for us.  I've got to tell you this, Jack, you've got lousy timing.  This wasn't the time for you to show up here."

 

     "My arrival here now isn't by mere coincidence, Matt.  I've suspected...felt something was going on.  For the past six months, I've thought that I was being followed.  At first, I dismissed it as just my imagination, but you don't live as long as I have in this business without paying a mindful heed to your imagination."    

 

     "It's my fault.  I should have left that car right where it was.  Or I should have had it shipped out East, or down to Mexico."

 

     "No, it's not your fault.  One of their agents made me long before you sold the car.  Eventually, they would have shown up here with the intention of trying to get information out of Cecilia or the boys.  The car just hastened matters a bit."

 

     Things were now becoming clearer to Matt.  "So you showed up here purposefully to lead them away from your wife and sons?"

 

     "Exactly," Jack nodded.  Indicating to the newspaper article he held in his hand once again, he added softly,  "But I see I arrived too late to prevent a tragedy from already occurring.  There won't be any more if I can help it."

 

     "They'll kill you if they get a hold of you, Jack.  They'll kill you just as sure as we're sitting here.  Thirty-three years may seem like a long time, but they haven't forgotten.  Nor do they intend to forgive."

 

     "I'm well aware of that.  But, much like you, Matt, if my circle closes now I'm ready."

 

     Matt shook his head.  "You don't mean that."

 

     Jack gave a short laugh.  "Sure I do.  When you think about it, what's really left for me?  I've seen things, and called places home, that most people only dream about.  I've lived among royalty, considered several presidents to be close friends, vacationed at Camp David, had a villa in the Swiss Alps, interrogated Lee Harvey Oswald - and later Jack Ruby, was with Bobby Kennedy the night he was shot, rafted down the Amazon, hunted Nazis in South America, and briefed Jimmy Carter in regards to the Middle East Peace Accord.  And that's just the tip of the iceberg.  There's not a place I haven't seen, or an uprising I haven't been a part of in one way or another.  The only thing I still want...my family, I can't have.  So, I’ll be satisfied with one last opportunity to tell them I love them, prove that love by doing whatever is necessary so they will be safe once again, and from there, if fate conspires against me and I meet my maker, so be it."

 

     "And there's nothing I can say that will change your mind?" 

 

     "Nothing," came Jack's adamant reply.

 

     "Same old Jack," Matt chuckled once again as he rose to refresh their drinks and invite, "Come on in the kitchen.  Since my housekeeper is off on Wednesday evenings, I usually go out to dinner, but I doubt that parading you around San Diego is the wisest of ideas.  I'll grill a couple of steaks for us and you can tell me your plan."  Matt looked up from the bar and over at his old friend with amusement.  "You do have a plan, I assume?"

 

     Jack's eyes twinkled.  "Most certainly."

 

     "I was afraid you'd say that," Matt sighed.

 

     Jack laughed as he rose.  He accepted the beer Matt handed him, following his friend into the kitchen.

 

     "This is what I have in mind," he began.

 

 

S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S

 

 

     Long after visiting hours ended the next evening, a man dressed in hospital issue scrubs walked confidently down the halls of the Intensive Care Unit.  He carried what looked to be a patient's chart in his hand, a stethoscope hung around his neck.  His appearance was further disguised by the scrub mask pulled up over the lower half of his face, allowing only his eyes to show.

 

     Two nurses passed him, nodding, "Good evening, Doctor."

 

     "Ladies," he nodded politely in return, wondering for a moment if they were real hospital employees, government operatives, or possibly even enemy agents.

 

     He casually glanced over his shoulder to see the women turn a corner.  

 

     He passed the nurses’ station next, going virtually unnoticed as three nurses stood grouped in a circle deeply involved in conversation.  Jack's heart skipped a beat as he caught snatches of their discussion.

 

     "Simon."

 

     "Not good.  Bleeding of unknown origin."

 

     "May have to operate again."

 

     "Doctor Peadmont is very concerned.  He talked to the family earlier this afternoon.  Told them to expect the worst."

 

     Jack rounded the corner, stopping when he came to a closed door that was labeled 207.  For security reasons there was no one by the last name of Simon registered at the hospital, and though it was unusual for the door to a room on the ICU floor to be kept closed, for security reasons this one was.

 

     Jack pushed the swinging door open a mere crack, peering cautiously in his son's room.  He saw a nurse bent over the bed checking the patient's vital signs.  Jack let the door close as quietly as he had opened it, and quickly stepped around the corner. 

 

     Within seconds the door to Room 207 was opened and the woman exited, walking across the hallway to enter the room of another patient.

 

     Jack made his way back to his son's room, stopping for a

moment and leaning his head against the door.  This was harder than he thought it would be.  A small part of his mission was already accomplished.  Earlier in the day, he had 'seen' Cecilia.  Jack thought back to that all too brief moment.  From afar he had watched as his wife broke down and cried in the arms of his old friend, Dr. Robert Bolton.

 

     God, Cece, you're still so beautiful.  So tiny.  My tough little lady through it all.  What I wouldn't give to have spared you all you've suffered over the years because of me.  I wish I could hold you in my arms now and tell you how much I love you, how you've never been out of my thoughts or my heart in all these many long years.  How proud I am of you and the fine job you did raising our sons alone.  I love you, Cece.  I'll always love you.

 

     Jack took a deep breath, willing the tears not to fill his eyes as they had earlier that day, while he unobtrusively observed his wife in the busy hospital.

 

     The sound of nurses' voices growing closer brought Jack out of his musings.  He slipped quietly in the dim room of his son.

 

     Jack stood by the door, slowing pulling the scrub mask down from his face while acclimating himself to his surroundings.   Equipment stood on both sides of the bed, the steady beeping of a heart monitor the only sound in the room.  A dim light was on above the bed, casting eerie shadows on the wall. 

 

     With uncharacteristic hesitation Jack approached the bed, studying with wonder the injured man lying there.  When it was apparent to him his son would not be aware of his visit, he reached out and touched the hand that lay on top of the bed covers. 

 

Matt's right.  He looks just like me.

 

     Jack smiled a soft smile of fatherly love as he bent over the injured man.  "You've grown up, son."

 

     He chuckled at his own words.  "Forgive me.  That sounded rather corny, I know.  It's just that thirty-three years ago you were four and a half years old.  Just a little guy who would greet me at the door every night like a whirlwind of motion that never tired.  Do you remember how we'd wrestle and roughhouse?  It would finally end with me tickling you until you begged me to stop.  Do you still carry those memories with you, Andy?  I do.  They're deep in my heart.  Whenever I get scared or lonely, I think of those times we had.  Maybe if you think of them tonight, too, they'll give you the strength you need to hang on."

 

     Jack ran his hand gently up A.J.'s muscular arm, taking note of the broad chest and shoulders the bare torso revealed.  He lightly squeezed a strong bicep, smiling.

 

     "A weight lifter, I bet.   And you still like to box, as well, or so I've been told.  I had just hung your first punching bag in the garage a month before I...left.  I remember how we boxed together on Saturday mornings.  You wanted to dress like a 'real boxer' as you put it.   You'd be out there with no shirt on and a big pair of gym shorts that kept sliding down your scrawny little hips.  There wasn't much to you back then, tiger.  You probably didn't weigh more than thirty-five pounds soaking wet."

 

     Jack drifted from one subject to the next, talking of things he hoped would mean something to A.J. 

 

     "I saw your mom earlier today.  She's still as gorgeous as ever.  I wish I could talk to her, but that's impossible.  My love for her has never diminished.  I want you to know how proud I am of you and Rick, for the way you've taken care of her all these years.  She needs you boys.  

 

     "I'm going to have to leave soon.  I can't risk getting caught here.  I'm going to see your brother next, only I won't be able to talk to him.  I hope both of you boys know how much I love you.  Andy, I left because it was the only way to keep you, and Rick, and Mom safe.  If there could have been any other path open to me, I would have gladly chosen it.  But there wasn't.  I hope if you ever find out the truth that you'll forgive me, and you'll somehow know how much I love all of you, even after all these many years.  Believe me, Andy, it was the only way.  Can you understand that, son?"

 

      A.J.'s head moved restlessly on the pillow.  Jack reached down to brush sweat matted hair off his son's forehead.  The unconscious A.J. moaned, then mumbled incoherently.

 

     "Shhh, shhh," Jack hushed.  "It's okay.  You're going to be all right.  You hang in there for Mom and Rick.  They need you, Andy."

 

     "Dad?"  Came the mumbled words Jack could barely understand.

 

     Afraid he'd revealed far too much already, Jack simply hushed while caressing the hot forehead, "Shhh.  It's just a dream.  Take it easy now.  You're okay.  Shhh," over and over again until A.J. seemed to slip back into a deep state of unawareness.

 

     Jack was just rising from his bent position over the head of the bed when the door swung open. 

 

     "Hey, what are you doin' in here?"  Came the gruff question.  The gruff question that was followed by a quick apology when the intruder caught sight of Jack's scrubs.

 

     "Oh, I'm sorry.  I didn't expect to run across a doctor in here at this time of night."

 

     Jack waved the apology aside while cautiously observing this stranger.  Was he an enemy operative sent here to kill Andy?  

 

"No need to apologize, young man.  An honest mistake, I'm sure."  He held out his hand, "I'm Dr. Farnstead.  Dr. Ellis Farnstead.  And you're...?"

 

     The tall lanky stranger shook the offered hand.  "Rick Simon."

 

     Jack fought to control his racing thoughts and reeling emotions as he held onto the hand of his eldest son.  If Rick noticed the momentary lapse in Jack's charade, or the fact that his hand was being squeezed a bit too tightly, he made no mention of it. 

 

     Jack composed himself, releasing Rick's hand.  His eyes followed his oldest son as Rick approached the bed.

 

     Playing his role of deception to the hilt Jack asked, "You're the patient's...?" 

 

     "Brother."  Rick supplied succinctly.

 

     Jack walked to the opposite side of the bed, standing across from Rick.  "It's past midnight, son.  Visiting hours ended some time ago."

 

     Rick looked down at A.J.  "I know.  I left here at eight and drove our mother home so she could get some rest.  But I had no intention of stayin' away tonight.  A.J.'s surgeon, Doctor Peadmont, said tonight could be critical.  That things could go either way.  If things don't go like we hope they will, if A.J. doesn't pull through...well, he's not gonna die alone.  I'll be here with him to the end."

 

     Rick reached over to the nightstand, wet a washrag with cool water and began to gently wipe it over the face of his perspiring brother.  Jack's steady gaze on him went unnoticed by Rick. 

 

     I'm so proud of you, Rick.  You've grown up to be quite a man.  I wish I could tell you that, son.   My God, Rick, I have to look up at you.  Where in the world did you get those long legs from?  Maybe Cecilia's father and brothers, huh?  They were over six feet tall, and always skinny as rails.  I guess it was appropriate that we chose Lawrence for your middle name after your Grandfather Collins.  You look somewhat like your Uncle Ray, though.   And still fond of cowboy hats, I see.  My little Rough Rider.  How well I remember.       

 

     Jack ventured to ask casually, "You and your brother are close I take it?"

 

     Rick looked over at 'the doctor', the dim light heavily shadowing the older man's face.  "He's my best friend.  Always has been."

 

     "I'm sure your parents are proud of that fact."

 

     Rick shrugged.  "Yeah, I guess so.  We're a close family.  Our dad died when I was nine and A.J. four.  Our mother never remarried.  The three of us have been real tight knit since that time.  We all kinda watch out for one another."

 

     "It's nice to hear that there are still some close knit families left," Jack commented.

 

     Rick smiled.  "Don't get me wrong, we're not exactly the Waltons.  A.J. and I have our differences of opinion on occasion.  On many occasions, as a matter of fact.  But, through it all we always manage to keep in mind what's really important."

 

     "And what's that?"

 

     "Family.  The fact that we're brothers, and best friends.  Even though we were young when our dad died, his passing left a lasting impression on us.  You can't ever take for granted the time you have with someone on this earth.  All too quickly it can come to an end."

 

     "A hard lesson to learn at such a young age," was all Jack would say.

 

     "Yeah, it is," Rick acknowledged.   He reached down and grasped his brother's limp hand firmly in his own, while he continued to wipe A.J.'s face and chest using the other.  "And that's exactly why I'll be by his side until this thing is over one way or another.  I won't take for granted what time we may have left."