I'm feeling a little rusty after being ill and not writing for a few weeks and I'm woefully behind on reading fanfic. Hopefully, you'll enjoy
this and I'll be caught up soon. As always, thanks for reading.
Prompt: There is love, of course and then there's life, its enemy. ~ Jean Anouilh
"Detective Spencer is here to see you," the young guard impartially offered without the slightest hint of a grimace.
Jason's laser gaze swung to the door just as the familiar police officer pushed his way around the well-suited guard and swaggered into his office. He couldn't help but notice the anger and righteous indignation that wrapped around the younger man's burly shoulders like a cloak, a mantle of authority threaded with the sustaining fibers of justice and vengeance.
Wearily, he dropped the shipping documents onto the desk in front of him and waited for the inevitable confrontation. This wasn't the first time the detective had shouldered his way into his domain looking for evidence against him and he suspected it wouldn't be the last either for Detective Spencer wouldn't be satisfied until he'd brought him down and left him rotting in a barren, concrete cell.
Clenching his jaw, he fortified himself for the onslaught of guilt and pain that would be stirred within him at the police officer's harsh words of judgment. The other man never missed an opportunity to callously remind him that his negligence and nefarious activities had harmed Elizabeth's oldest boy.
He'd never forget the shattered picture he carried in his desolate heart of Elizabeth slumped over Cam's fragile little body; his innocent blood soaked her sweater and smeared her hands from her futile attempts to save her child from the single gunshot wound in the rudimentary cabin. The tears of grief had ravaged her face; muddy rivers of mascara ran free and marred the perfection of her porcelain skin from the torrent of her pain.
He'd run to her, the answering suffering and culpability evident on his face as he'd approached her. When she'd looked up at him, her steely eyes devoid of anything but her anger and consuming loss, he'd feebly reached to comfort her, offering the only thing that he could-the solace of his loving touch.
And it was in that moment that he'd felt the tide of helplessness overwhelm him, when Elizabeth racked with grief and tormented by loss had recoiled from his touch. Her slender shoulders had subtly drawn inward for protection against him and the small movement had brushed his hand away, severing their connection more thoroughly than any words could manage.
In the ensuing years of silence between them, he'd accepted the unspoken blame and responsibility for Cameron's death. He'd been able to look back with utter clarity and had known that he'd ultimately been responsible for the young boy's death.
And the echo of his remorse always hollered back at him that things would be so different now for all of them if he'd just sent guards. But he hadn't. And Officer Spencer was always there to remind him of his greatest and most costly mistake. The day he'd lost any chance of his family.
He was used to the belligerent swagger, he was familiar with the cold accusation in the younger man's eyes, and he was accustomed to the snide questions and habitual harassment. However, he wasn't used to the smirk that graced the younger man's normally vengeful features or the light of victory emanating from the officer's arctic gaze.
A chill of warning settled along the base of his spine at the police detective's unusual behavior and he knew this wasn't going to be an ordinary or routine questioning. Something was different and with a slight nod of his head, he automatically signaled the guard at the door to call his attorney.
When his gaze settled back on the officer, he noted the hatred and disdain that fueled the younger man as they engaged in a battle of wills. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, needed to know the answers to but would never be able to do so.
After a few moments, he broke the silence with the only subject he could and levelly asked, "What are you doing here?"
There was a second of hesitation before the policeman spitefully replied, "Just doing my job."
He knew he shouldn't look forward to these confrontations. He knew that he should just remain mute and allow the detective to play his hand like he had with so many adversaries before him.
However, he was no longer able to do so with this detective. He wanted these moments of intense ire and angry quarrels. He needed them. They were the only remaining connection he had to Elizabeth and his son.
"Then wait for my lawyer to get here and you can ask your questions," he neutrally offered hoping that it would prolong this latest altercation.
"Oh, I don't have any questions for you this time," the detective smugly refuted.
He felt the deep seated rejection that grew within the younger man like a cancer, allowing nothing to heal his hardened shell. And knew from his sorrow filled heart to the very last corners of his soul that he'd been wrong but there was no going back now. There was no changing the past.
The officer's words were laced with triumph as he crowed, "She woke up last week."
The revelation filled him with churning rivers of hope and despair, the steady flow of each freeing memories from the past decades and pulling him into their overwhelming current. She was no longer the porcelain doll neatly arranged in the over-sized chair at Shadybrook. She was no longer locked within the traumatized recesses of her own mind. She was longer held captive by the grief and pain.
Elizabeth was finally awake.
"How- how did she," his gravelly voice struggled to utter the words, not wanting to believe or wish for too much. Not wanting to hope that she remembered him and be dashed with reality once again.
"Oh, did you miss the signs of her progress and improvement the last time you snuck into her room," the younger man taunted.
"Yeah, I've known for years that you steal time with her like the common thug that you are," he condemned. "It wasn't enough for you to rob her of her life."
The charges were like the verbal lash of a whip against his soul, the sting leaving him bleeding from unseen wounds. Even in the darkest places of his guilt, he'd never been able to walk away from her completely. He'd stay away during the daylight for his enemies' sake, seemingly indifferent to all that had transpired so long ago, but he'd never been able to avoid the temptation at night. He knew when the open road called to him, beckoned him with its allure of freedom that he'd be winding his way back to her.
It didn't happen often but it did happen.
"How did you"
"You really think you're that cunning," the younger man interrupted. "You must believe the infamous tales that rival mobsters have spun about the notorious Jason Morgan and your stealth and deadly aim."
He saw the disdain on the younger man's face. The disgust at his profession and choices that dripped into every word and permeated the air between them as the detective added, "You shouldn't selfishly sit by her bedside and describe the beautiful places you've traveled to, places that she'll never see, or leave her blank postcards if you didn't want to be caught."
Pain filtered through him as the truth of the younger man's words. He had been selfish. Years ago, he'd thought his actions were the epitome of selfless loving and sacrifice but time had once again shown him the error of his ways.
As the detective moved forward and around the imposing desk, the actions were predatory and practiced, deadly and precise, as he pulled out the all too familiar cuffs. With a quick snap of the younger man's wrist, he was efficiently bound by the cold metal without any fuss or resistance.
The barren office was filled with the officer's booming charges as he stated, "Jason Morgan, you are under arrest for the murder of Samantha McCall. You have the right to remain silent; you have the right to an attorney…."
The remainder of his Miranda rights was drowned out by the knowledge that Elizabeth remembered everything. She recalled with certainty all of that dark night when he'd exacted vengeance on the woman who'd led the Russian syndicate straight toward a loving mother and two innocent little boys. They'd wanted Sam dead and gotten Cameron instead.
And Elizabeth had finally broken her silence and levied blame against him.
Spencer's words were laced with contempt as he ruggedly whispered, "You're finally going to pay…Dad."
He swallowed the lump of emotion that threatened to choke him knowing that Jake would never know that he'd paid for his sins every day he'd missed of his son's life.
Prompt: There is love, of course and then there's life, its enemy. ~ Jean Anouilh
"Detective Spencer is here to see you," the young guard impartially offered without the slightest hint of a grimace.
Jason's laser gaze swung to the door just as the familiar police officer pushed his way around the well-suited guard and swaggered into his office. He couldn't help but notice the anger and righteous indignation that wrapped around the younger man's burly shoulders like a cloak, a mantle of authority threaded with the sustaining fibers of justice and vengeance.
Wearily, he dropped the shipping documents onto the desk in front of him and waited for the inevitable confrontation. This wasn't the first time the detective had shouldered his way into his domain looking for evidence against him and he suspected it wouldn't be the last either for Detective Spencer wouldn't be satisfied until he'd brought him down and left him rotting in a barren, concrete cell.
Clenching his jaw, he fortified himself for the onslaught of guilt and pain that would be stirred within him at the police officer's harsh words of judgment. The other man never missed an opportunity to callously remind him that his negligence and nefarious activities had harmed Elizabeth's oldest boy.
He'd never forget the shattered picture he carried in his desolate heart of Elizabeth slumped over Cam's fragile little body; his innocent blood soaked her sweater and smeared her hands from her futile attempts to save her child from the single gunshot wound in the rudimentary cabin. The tears of grief had ravaged her face; muddy rivers of mascara ran free and marred the perfection of her porcelain skin from the torrent of her pain.
He'd run to her, the answering suffering and culpability evident on his face as he'd approached her. When she'd looked up at him, her steely eyes devoid of anything but her anger and consuming loss, he'd feebly reached to comfort her, offering the only thing that he could-the solace of his loving touch.
And it was in that moment that he'd felt the tide of helplessness overwhelm him, when Elizabeth racked with grief and tormented by loss had recoiled from his touch. Her slender shoulders had subtly drawn inward for protection against him and the small movement had brushed his hand away, severing their connection more thoroughly than any words could manage.
In the ensuing years of silence between them, he'd accepted the unspoken blame and responsibility for Cameron's death. He'd been able to look back with utter clarity and had known that he'd ultimately been responsible for the young boy's death.
And the echo of his remorse always hollered back at him that things would be so different now for all of them if he'd just sent guards. But he hadn't. And Officer Spencer was always there to remind him of his greatest and most costly mistake. The day he'd lost any chance of his family.
He was used to the belligerent swagger, he was familiar with the cold accusation in the younger man's eyes, and he was accustomed to the snide questions and habitual harassment. However, he wasn't used to the smirk that graced the younger man's normally vengeful features or the light of victory emanating from the officer's arctic gaze.
A chill of warning settled along the base of his spine at the police detective's unusual behavior and he knew this wasn't going to be an ordinary or routine questioning. Something was different and with a slight nod of his head, he automatically signaled the guard at the door to call his attorney.
When his gaze settled back on the officer, he noted the hatred and disdain that fueled the younger man as they engaged in a battle of wills. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, needed to know the answers to but would never be able to do so.
After a few moments, he broke the silence with the only subject he could and levelly asked, "What are you doing here?"
There was a second of hesitation before the policeman spitefully replied, "Just doing my job."
He knew he shouldn't look forward to these confrontations. He knew that he should just remain mute and allow the detective to play his hand like he had with so many adversaries before him.
However, he was no longer able to do so with this detective. He wanted these moments of intense ire and angry quarrels. He needed them. They were the only remaining connection he had to Elizabeth and his son.
"Then wait for my lawyer to get here and you can ask your questions," he neutrally offered hoping that it would prolong this latest altercation.
"Oh, I don't have any questions for you this time," the detective smugly refuted.
He felt the deep seated rejection that grew within the younger man like a cancer, allowing nothing to heal his hardened shell. And knew from his sorrow filled heart to the very last corners of his soul that he'd been wrong but there was no going back now. There was no changing the past.
The officer's words were laced with triumph as he crowed, "She woke up last week."
The revelation filled him with churning rivers of hope and despair, the steady flow of each freeing memories from the past decades and pulling him into their overwhelming current. She was no longer the porcelain doll neatly arranged in the over-sized chair at Shadybrook. She was no longer locked within the traumatized recesses of her own mind. She was longer held captive by the grief and pain.
Elizabeth was finally awake.
"How- how did she," his gravelly voice struggled to utter the words, not wanting to believe or wish for too much. Not wanting to hope that she remembered him and be dashed with reality once again.
"Oh, did you miss the signs of her progress and improvement the last time you snuck into her room," the younger man taunted.
"Yeah, I've known for years that you steal time with her like the common thug that you are," he condemned. "It wasn't enough for you to rob her of her life."
The charges were like the verbal lash of a whip against his soul, the sting leaving him bleeding from unseen wounds. Even in the darkest places of his guilt, he'd never been able to walk away from her completely. He'd stay away during the daylight for his enemies' sake, seemingly indifferent to all that had transpired so long ago, but he'd never been able to avoid the temptation at night. He knew when the open road called to him, beckoned him with its allure of freedom that he'd be winding his way back to her.
It didn't happen often but it did happen.
"How did you"
"You really think you're that cunning," the younger man interrupted. "You must believe the infamous tales that rival mobsters have spun about the notorious Jason Morgan and your stealth and deadly aim."
He saw the disdain on the younger man's face. The disgust at his profession and choices that dripped into every word and permeated the air between them as the detective added, "You shouldn't selfishly sit by her bedside and describe the beautiful places you've traveled to, places that she'll never see, or leave her blank postcards if you didn't want to be caught."
Pain filtered through him as the truth of the younger man's words. He had been selfish. Years ago, he'd thought his actions were the epitome of selfless loving and sacrifice but time had once again shown him the error of his ways.
As the detective moved forward and around the imposing desk, the actions were predatory and practiced, deadly and precise, as he pulled out the all too familiar cuffs. With a quick snap of the younger man's wrist, he was efficiently bound by the cold metal without any fuss or resistance.
The barren office was filled with the officer's booming charges as he stated, "Jason Morgan, you are under arrest for the murder of Samantha McCall. You have the right to remain silent; you have the right to an attorney…."
The remainder of his Miranda rights was drowned out by the knowledge that Elizabeth remembered everything. She recalled with certainty all of that dark night when he'd exacted vengeance on the woman who'd led the Russian syndicate straight toward a loving mother and two innocent little boys. They'd wanted Sam dead and gotten Cameron instead.
And Elizabeth had finally broken her silence and levied blame against him.
Spencer's words were laced with contempt as he ruggedly whispered, "You're finally going to pay…Dad."
He swallowed the lump of emotion that threatened to choke him knowing that Jake would never know that he'd paid for his sins every day he'd missed of his son's life.
You got me but that WAS Fablous and Sad all @ the same time...Good
job
