"The future waits, the present claims action.
Your fate is in the care of those who can care for you."

"Antigone," Translation by R.E. Braun. Lines 1520-1521. Used without permission.
 

FROHIKE:

E-mails. I owe about a thousand of them. 383, to be exact.

Goddamn Langly and Byers and Michael. Told the whole fucking readership I got laid up.

But the messages are genuinely kind, at least the ones that aren't trying to sell me something. I should at least respond to the people who took the time to drop a line and wishing me a speedy recovery.

It's not happening as fast as I would like. Every week, I go in, see how I'm doing, and I'm told, doing as well as can be expected. I'd much rather hear something to the effect of I've got the body of a 20-year-old now.

I have a feeling it's not going to happen. Not now, not ever.

No, it's an old, annoying body. It's got all kinds of problems. It's got scars of all varieties and in all locations.

But Martha isn't complaining. She seems to rather like this old body, and the person that lives inside it. I'm snuggled in her arms, and it doesn't matter what age I am. I could be 20, I could be 100. It doesn't matter. Just as time doesn't matter when we're together. I don't know how long it takes for us to make love, and it doesn't matter.

Unfortunately, there's still life in the vertical, with all its attendant problems. Time being one of them.

And I have a lot of catching up to do. I've been away from the offices for so long. I've seen the output of the others, and I'm proud of them, but I think it's time I began pulling my weight again. I don't seem to be getting any better, any faster, just hanging around the house.

I think it's time I rejoined the fray out there.
 

MICHAEL:

"You should've taken your test," Kelly says while I'm taking her back to Chateau Langly.

"I'm gonna take it, tonight, okay? But you gotta go home."

"I'm going to get so behind, I'm supposed to go to work today..."

"Yeah, like Dr. Scully would really let you come to work when you're sick. No way."

"I shouldn't be going home."

"Kelly, you gotta. Now just rest. Okay?" I smooth a piece of her wheaty hair over her cheek, which looks all red. Her pretty, calm blue eyes are all bright and freaky looking. "Be home soon."

I'm supposed to work this afternoon. What'm I gonna do? I really don't wanna leave Kelly...but Ally's there, maybe she can take care of her till I get done with calc tonight...

I see Langly's beast in the drive, but not Ally's, she probably just went to get some stuff for Langly or took Patrick to go play or something.

Langly's in the kitchen when I get there. "Oh, cool, you're here. Hey Junior, need you to watch Patrick awhile."

"Langly, are you fucking dense? Kelly's sick. I gotta take her downstairs."

"Patrick's sick too, he's in our bed, help me out on this one, Junior."

"Lemme get Kelly tucked in, okay?"

"Look, I gotta get moving, just check on the little guy, okay? See ya." I hear him bail out like post-haste as I lead Kelly down the steps. She's like so hurting.

Shit. And I'm supposed to be back at work in an hour.

Langly better have his ass back by then, or I will fucking kill him.
 

I got five minutes before I got to bail out. I checked on Patrick twice. Sleeping the first time, but now he's awake and he's real fussy and I'm holding him and sitting on Kelly's bed and I am gonna get so screwed if Langly doesn't hurry the hell up and get back here...where the hell did the asshole go, anyway?

And where's Ally, for Christ's sake? She's not at work! Not on Yom Kippur she wouldn't be.

I could I suppose just put Patrick on Kelly's bed, let her sort of be there for him, but that would just be all wrong, what if he barfs or something all over her, then she's gotta deal with that, and she looks so damn miserable all wrapped up in a bunch of blankets and just sniffling and shivering...I don't wanna leave her, but I really got to get to work...

Finally, a fucking car pulls in, but it's an eight-cylinder, not a four, so it's not Ally's-fuck, who is it?

I look outside, and I see...it's Dad.

He's coming back to work?

Thought he wasn't supposed to be back till the end of October, least that's what his doc tells him. But it's him, or some short dude wearing the world's most hideous yellow hat pulling up in his T-Bird.

The yellow hat sort of cancels out any other possibilities. It's Dad.

I'd ask him what the fuck he's doing here, but I'm glad he is.

I also really shouldn't do this to him, make him watch Patrick, but I got to get out of here. Now would be good.

"Dad, you gotta watch Patrick, I gotta get back to work." I yell to him as I'm heading for my car, which I'm praying starts, it was pretty crabby this morning. What do you want? It's cold out and it's a Ford.

"What're you doing here?" He's like looking at me like he doesn't believe it's me.

"Kelly's sick, I had to bring her home, gotta go, bye!"

I see Dad shaking his head, but he goes in the house.

Thanks Dad.
 

FROHIKE:

What the hell is going on here? Where are Allison and Langly? Langly's got pneumonia and a broken arm, he's supposed to have his sorry ass in bed, and Allison...oh Christ. I hope to God she didn't go to service. Not after what I read this morning. And what the hell is she doing leaving a sick kid, anyway? That's not like her.

I find little Patrick snuggled up on the sofa in a bunch of blankets and watching the Cartoon Network. The same channel my son enjoys. Well, emotionally, they're right about the same age. He's sniffling, partly from being sick, partly from crying.

And unfortunately, I'm not his favorite person. This is because I'm usually the one that scolds him for misbehaving when we're in a setting other than his own home-and he's usually misbehaving.

"Hey little fella." I sit down next to him, cautiously.

"I wan' my mommy," he sniffs.

"She'll be home soon," I try to soothe him. "What're you watching?"

"Transfawmas." I'm assuming this means Transformers.

"Michael likes that show." He does. As I said, my son is in some ways about Patrick's age. Last night was a good indication of that.

"Daddy likes it. Bofe my daddies." He rubs his little fist over his nose, which is now red as a drunk's. "I wan' my daddy."

"Wish I knew where he was." I'd kick his ass.

"Mommy says he was gonna stay wif me, but he lefted."

"He'll be back."

"He says he hasta gota work."

Oh ho. Out of the mouths of babes comes the truth.

"Mommy says he's not supposta gota work t'day. She woul'nt do his hair."

I laugh at this.

"Do you know where your mommy is?"

"She wenta ge'me some med'sin."

Well, that shouldn't take too long...there's both a Rite-Aid and a Walgreens within three miles of this place.

"Then Michael comed and taked care of me, but he says he hasta gota work. Why's everbody gots to gota work?"

"Because that's what grownups do," I explain simply.

"Daddy's not supposta gota work t'day. Mommy said. She said she's gonna tie him up to th'bed if he tries to go."

"Looks like she was a little late." I can't help but laugh.

"Mommy's gonna get real mad at him."

"She should." A lot more often than she does, at any rate. Compared to what I'd do to him, she lets him off easy.

"I wan' my mommy." He's starting to cry again.

I pick up the little boy, I know I'm not his favorite, not like Michael, but he seems to appreciate the gesture. I hold him in my arms and rock him gently, trying to get him to calm down.

Just as I've done with my own son a hundred thousand times.

Talk about déjà vu.
 

Finally, Allison returns. I know this because as she walks in, I hear her shout, "Langly, you are a dead man!"

She's carrying two sacks of groceries-I feel bad not offering to help her, but I really can't. She sticks her head in the living room. "Frohike, what's going on here? Where is that miserable excuse for a husband of mine?"

"Ah, you finally figured him out. According to your little fella here, he escaped to his office."

She is not pleased. "He's insane. He's totally insane. I'm going to kill him, Frohike. If he doesn't do it first, I'll finish the job."

"Oh please, my dear, allow me to help." I'm still cuddling the sleeping boy, who seems to be content at the moment. "Give an old man some pleasure in life."

This gives her the ghost of a grin. "From what I hear, Frohike, you're making the rest of us look old and decrepit in that department, at least the way your son carries on."

I feel slightly embarrassed-what the hell is Michael telling people?

I'm going to kill the little bastard.

She sets down her purse. "So what sort of con job did he pull on you to get you to watch our boy?"

"He didn't. I think he pulled it on Michael."

"Michael's in school."

"Kelly's downstairs, he brought her home sick. Then he had to get to work, and I pulled up and he ran out leaving me with this."

"I'm sorry, Frohike, I really am."

"You're not the one that needs to apologize, my dear."

She drops into the chair that is designated as Langly's chair. Interesting how we all have Papa Bear chairs. Must be on the Y chromosome.

"Frohike, he's not going to get better if he goes into work! What'm I going to do with him?"

I'd love to be able to give her some advice, but I'm at something of a loss here.

"When you figure it out, my dear, let me know. Just make certain it involves physical violence."

This forces her into a gale of giggles.

"So now we have Kelly home sick, as well?"

"That's the story. I was going to check on her, but this little one fell asleep in my lap, and I'd like to not disturb him."

"That's fine, I'll check on her. Anyway, Frohike, what brings you over here?"

"Time to get back to work."

She looks puzzled. "Wait a minute. Martha said you were supposed to be off till the end of the month." This induces her to roll her eyes slightly. She's going to have a very long day ahead of her.

She then looks out on me with those clear dark blue eyes. "Frohike, you know what my biggest regret in life is?"

Hmm...pick one.

"No, my dear, what is it?"

"That I gave up drinking during the week."

I have to laugh, mostly because I empathize.

Then I get a severe look from her. "And I wonder where these guys get their bad habits reinforced? Now I know."

Well, I guess I have corrupted more than a few of the youth of America.
 

Before I head back out to the offices-God, it seems strange to be getting back in the saddle again!-I stop to check on Kelly.

My future daughter-in-law. The woman my son has chosen to love for all his life.

She's bundled up in three blankets, but she's not sleeping. She looks in pain and miserable and exhausted.

"Mr. Frohike?" Her normally clear voice comes out in a rasp.

"Hi, Kelly. How are you, dear?"

"Okay." What a lie. That this child would miss school is very bad indeed. She really has to be in bad shape. "What time's it?"

"Around two."

"Michael doesn't get back till eight." She seems to be particularly distressed about this fact. "No, he's later tonight, he's got to take his chem exam. He missed it because of me, you know."

"But he's taking it later?"

"Yeah. I didn't want him to skip it because of me, but he said I had to come home."

She turns her cheek into the pillow and looks like a lost, sad little girl instead of the young woman premed she is in real life. I can see a tear sneak out of one eye.

"He's so good to me." She coughs as she says this, and more tears find their way to her cheek. "I love him, you know."

Even as out of it as she is, I can hear it in her voice.

Oh Christ. She's totally hooked on him.

"I wish he was here." She grabs at the blanket as a spasm of pain crosses her pretty face.

"I'm sure he does, too." I have a feeling I know how hard it was for him to leave her. I know how I'd feel.

I'm reluctant to touch this girl. I don't want her to misinterpret anything from me. But she looks so agonized.

"Kelly, would you like a backrub?"

"That'd be nice." She can barely get the words out. She's so hoarse, and this brings a fresh stream of tears.

"I'm probably not as good as your boy, but maybe it'll help," I say softly to her.

"I miss my mama."

"I know you do." God, at moments like this, you'd have to. Even if her mother wasn't much of a mother, which, from what I can gather (yes, I checked her out), she wasn't much of one.

I massage her back gently. I can feel her shaking and rushes of pain rising from under the blanket.

"I want Michael. I want my mama."

"I know, honey, I know."

"Can you stay with me?" Her big blue eyes are wet and pleading.

"As long as you want. As long as you want."

Now I really have another child.
 

LANGLY:

This was a mistake.

But I'm here now. I'm probably gonna be sorry I did this, but I have to. As the prick reminded me, only like every time he called the damn house, just because I'm sick doesn't mean the work's gonna go away.

Plus I got my own work to do...but the asshole doesn't know that.

Maybe the fuckrag is in one of his interminable meetings. That would be good.

For one thing, it's 11:00, and work here starts at 8:30. Supposed to end at 5, but I'll believe that when I see it.

Hate to admit it, but Ally was right. I can't breathe. My arm hurts like hell. I felt not too bad when I left, but now I really feel like shit.

And God knows when I'll get out of here.

No luck on the meeting front. Fuckrag is in his office, and he sees me.

"Mr. Langly. We normally start at 8:30. Or are you on the Mexican plan?"

Bite your tongue. Don't let him get you.

The asshole knows I've been sick, and I think it's pretty obvious that I've got only one working arm.

And it's Dr. Langly to you, asshole. Thing is, he knows. He just fucks it up to piss me off.

"Look, I need a half-QWERTY, or I'm not gonna get anywhere."

"Oh, that's been done. Apparently your injury and illness are real, but you seem to be well enough to be here. Which is good. There's work to be done."

Oh, like I didn't know that!

Mostly what makes me feel real bad is I bailed on Patrick. He started to cry when I told him I had to go to work. And said that Mommy would be mad.

Which she will be, but shit, she worked for God knows how many years...she should know how it works.

Still, she's gonna be really mad...and she's gonna worry...and then she's gonna get madder...

Had to go and fall for a redhead, didn't you?

"When'm I getting a phone?"

"For what? You have e-mail. The most sophisticated e-mail in the western world. What do you need a phone for?"

"I got a family, which you damn well know."

"Yes, I'm aware of that." He closes his eyes and leans back in his chair. "By the way, you might remind the little woman to be a little more polite when our people come by...it doesn't reflect well on her. Or you."

Fuck that. It's our house, Ally can say whatever she likes.

"And Mr. Langly? The hair is not acceptable...I suggest you do something about that."

Fuck him.

I wander off to my office, and I slam the door. Too bad the doors don't have fucking locks.

Behind the door, I tell myself, keep cool. Don't let him push you over the edge. Stay cool, and you'll win.

In the meantime...

Shit.

I just had a vision of dying in this miserable little office.

With the amount of work I got to catch up on, it looks like it could be a real possibility.
 

BYERS:

I can't concentrate. I can't think. I can't pay attention to anyone speaking. This is a department chair's meeting, I'm supposed to be contributing, but the images that litter my brain prevent any form of productive academic thought from making its way in.

All the visions of Susanne...all the images I thought that the joy of the present had washed away from my brain...all of it, in living color, back again, right up front and center.

I've sent her five e-mails this morning, and been on the phone with Juliet nearly every fifteen minutes. I think she's about ready to strangle me, but I can't help it.

Don't say it couldn't happen again. It could.

I try to rationalize it. I tell myself, this is eleven years later. Juliet is not an organic chemist. She never worked for the Army Advanced Weapons Facility. She never went public with any data of any sort regarding her work. Her expertise is in systems security, but she never went to the press with anything she discovered.

But she did do investigative work in a major pharmaceutical concern...and I believe that her injuries were due to her work there.

And she continues to do online work for Luanne Russell, concerning the same outfit.

She needs to do something else, or I'm never going to get any sleep.

I don't doubt her ability. She is extremely competent in the technical arena. And she's fearless.

This scares me more than anything. Juliet is fearless. She believes if you don't surrender, everything will be all right.

Would it be that I could have those same reassurances...but I don't.

I'd like to be. But when I tell myself that everything will be all right...the bloodstained apartment rears its ugly head again. My dead wife. My unborn child.

I've got to get out of here.
 

MICHAEL:

Oh man, this sucks. I'm not real busy-lots of people out sick, some out for Yom Kippur-and in some ways, that's worse. I try to study while I'm waiting, but I'm so tired and I can't concentrate anymore. I'd ask Debbie if I could leave, but she'd probably break down in one of her emotional fits. Debbie is real fragile. I think they only keep her around because they have to.

I hated leaving Kelly like that. That just sucked so bad. I'd call her but I want her to sleep. Maybe tonight she'll feel better. I'm not gonna get out of here for a long time, since I have to make up the chem exam. I hope I can stay awake to get through it.

And it'd be nice if my dad would like just check on her, make sure she's okay, but he's so pissed about us that he probably wouldn't even go in and say boo to her. He can be such a bastard that way.

I decide to call Ally and see if she's looked at Kelly. Probably did, once she got home. Ally's such a mom. She wouldn't let Kelly be sick without going down and offering her soup and tea and ten thousand blankets.

I ask Debbie if I can use the phone, Debbie's like, what for, a personal call, you know the policy.

"Yeah, Deb, it's personal, and I got to make it. Either that or I go outside and find the pay phone, so if somebody comes looking for me, you get to track me down."

She just points to the phone and gives this big sigh, like she's doing a major deal for me.

And I'm supposed to say thank you?

Forget it.
 

"Hey Ally."

"Michael, is that you? You don't sound like you."

"Yeah, it's me. What's going on?"

"Well, I was thinking of creative ways to kill my husband-"

"I can think of a few."

She giggles. "But at the rate he's going, he's not going to need any help  in that area. I can't believe he did that! No, I take that back. I can."

"How's Patrick?"

"Sleeping for the moment, but he wakes up a lot, and he seems to be very unhappy. Not that I blame the little guy."

"You check on Kelly?"

"Once, but haven't had to in a while."

"Maybe you oughta, please?"

"No need, Michael. Your dad's with her."

"Dad's with her?"

"That's what I said. Anyway, do you want me to have him call you?"

"Uh-yeah, sure."

Well, I'll be damned.

END OF PART 70