Date: Tue, 11 May 1999 21:44:57 +1200 From: Angela Subject: FIC: "Loose Ends." 1/1 rating G. Sender: owner-tales@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu X-Sender: haughey@pop.ihug.co.nz To: tales@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu Reply-to: tales@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu X-Mailer: Windows Eudora Light Version 1.5.2 X-MIME-Autoconverted: from quoted-printable to 8bit by mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu id EAA04297 Well, i was planning on completely tidying this before i posted it, but i haven't touched it for six months, and i don't think i'm realistically going to. So here it is, as is where is so to speak. :) Feedback welcome...i know it's far from perfect but to be honest i don't even play with writing for seaQuest anymore. :( angela :) ******************************************** The curvy black car pulled somewhat slowly up at the pavement, as its driver reluctantly brought it to a halt. He took his hands from the sweat-darkened wheel, and dropped them in his lap, still staring ahead at the desolate street framed before him in the wet glass. "Here we go, I guess." Lucas Wolenczak commented quietly. Cleo Martin-Wolenczak unclipped her seatbelt, twisted in his direction, and smiled gently. "Here we go," She agreed. For a few moments, they both sat in silence. A brief gust of wind sent wet leaves tunnelling down the street, spilling off into gutters, mixed with random blasts of rain. It was an unreasonably cold night for December, but weather was something nobody could properly predict anymore, not with the amount of pollutants in the air and missing ozone in the sky above them. Rivulets of leftover-storm rinsed down the sides of the idling car, as Lucas finally cut the engine, mentally committing himself to the task ahead. Lucas was about thirty-five, give or take a few years depending on whether you believed his birth certificate or his recent press releases. The computer company owner-executive wore his age well. His blue eyes were but slightly marred by laugh lines and his military-trained body still acceptably close to that of his youth. A full head of clipped blond hair was just getting long enough to run fingers through again. He sat there, quiet and still, a luxurious use of time he rarely allowed himself. Cleo, the brunette beside him, was a few years younger. Attractive, but not stunning by any means of the word. Her hair was a little shorter than it should have been to suit her face, and her slightly thickened waist bore tribute to the two daughters she'd borne. She emanated a sense of patient tolerance well developed in another long-ago period of her life. Her gaze expressed warm communion with Lucas now, as they sat side by side, neither speaking. Lucas reached over, and put one hand on the door handle, undoing his seatbelt with the other. With a soft breath inward, he swung around and stepped onto the wet asphalt; one leg still planted on the dark carpeted floor of the car. For a moment, the confidence and surety of the expression on his face melted away to show the deep uncertainty that permeated him. "I'll come with you." She said immediately, reaching out to touch his arm. She knew him well, knew he would refuse her, but offered anyway without hesitation. Lucas smiled in return, letting the mask fall back into place. But she had seen his expression, knew how much this was taking out of him. She was the only one who'd even known, who probably ever would. "Thanks." He said softly, leaning over to briefly kiss the curve of her mouth. "But this is something I have to do on my own." "I know." Cleo said gently, watching as he climbed out of the car. He let the wind pull the door from his hands, shaking the vehicle as it slammed. For a moment he paused; then turned to walk the short space between the comfort zone of his world and the unfamiliarity of another's. And that…that wasn't the way it should be. Cleo watched him go, then crossed her fingers in a symbol of childish superstition. "Good luck." She whispered to nothing in particular, as he left her rear-vision mirror's view of sight. She tapped at the keypad, turning the radio on - and settled back into the warm black leather to wait. Lucas approached the building slowly, his heart racing. The pavement was dark and wet, and littered with empty hypo-sprays, illegal cigarette packets, and other products of human misery. Lucas felt his breath catch tightly in his stomach, and found himself gulping at the air as he approached the apartment building's dark facade. It was painted a soft cream, but flakes of missing colour revealed the stained brick surface that just wasn't made to hold paint. It looked tired, defeated, just another casualty in the war to update quality of life in this part of town. "It's so much better inside." The real estate agent had enthused, when Lucas made casual enquiries into the building on the pretence of wanting to help house a couple of his employees there. He bit his lip softly, knowing that he'd never expect any of his many employees to live in this area of the city. He felt a deep ache at the blatant disrespect for human uniqueness around him, but shook it off. "Don't be so judgemental." He told himself under his breath, words which had no effect on his state of mind. He stopped at the lobby door, his stomach sinking as he realised there was a buzzer there, and a handprint scanner for those who belonged. He didn't belong. He would have to buzz her, speak to her, hear her voice and tell her who he was. For a few moments, he felt sick; then quickly fought it off. "If you're not ready for this, then go back to your car and your wife and your safe little world, Wolenczak." He heard his own voice aloud, driven downwards by the rain and the wind. He'd never imagined this scenario. In his dreams, he surprised her, walked up to her door and back into her life. And her hug was warm, the tears on her wrinkled cheeks real. He knew that he shouldn't need her, shouldn't feel this way after 25 years of neglect, but it was always her face that dogged every decision he made, his strength, his nemesis, and his ongoing clinging pain. Cynthia Annabelle Holt, his mother. He steeled himself to press the small black buzzer, ("Full, security, you understand! Your staff would be perfectly safe living here, I can assure you sir!") held himself tightly against the dark brick. He knew, as did Cleo, that he had to either welcome her back into his life or completely clear her from it. There was a rattling bang from the other side of the dirty glass, and an elderly man stepped from the stairwell into the lobby, letting the door hit the internal brick with another thud. He paced towards the exit, and jabbed the release key with a forefinger, barely glancing at Lucas as he held the door open for him. Lucas felt like kissing his feet. "Thank you." He breathed. "Yeah." The man shrugged, and let go of the door. Lucas caught the heavy, rainstreaked glass with both hands, and stepped through into the dull silence of the lobby. Her name was listed alongside a stranger. "Suite 803, Cindy Holt and Jacob Meyers." Cindy? His refined, elegant, perfumed mother now called herself something as little-girl as Cindy? A hum of unease began to build in the pit of his stomach. Lucas mounted the stairs, and began the long climb to the eighth floor above. ("All rooms with a view sir! Come on up and see for yourself!") The stairway was almost dark, and the insistent flicker of a florescent bulb that needed changing painted Lucas' shadow against the wall in comic time-series flashes. ("All modern conveniences sir, fully updated of course!") He has this meeting all planned out, in his mind. It had taken years to build up the courage to find her, to persuade himself that it was time to embrace his ghosts and clear the shadows of his conscience, the nagging ache that told him he should have tried harder to keep her love. To win it in the first place - a child who'd had to plead for his mother's unconditional love when so many other couples were dying to become families, dying to have a small person to call one of their own. No matter how much Don't-Be-Ridiculous attempted to assure him that a five year old child could have done nothing, nothing at all, You'll-Never-Know-It-Wasn't-You always won out. He had no back up plan; there could be no reassessments or second chances. She was His Mother. He imagined himself warm in her arms, making up for lost years of lost embraces. Such idealistic thoughts propelled him up the stairs, fuelled one foot in front of the other where he might have perhaps turned and closed this particular chapter before even writing a word on the last page. These thoughts were his and his alone, he shared them with none. Even Cleo, the woman who kept him sane, respected the padlocked well of private reflections that existed within the depths of him. He clutched one hand to his pocket; patting the photographs of himself and Cleo, and the young twin daughters who'd spent their first four years bereft of grandparents of any form. He stopped at the landing of the seventh floor, not to catch his breath, but to quell the sickening thud of his own heartbeat in his ears. There was nothing he could do about the terror that seized him like a child of five, hiding under the bed with his brown bear in his arms while his mother and father screamed at each other down in the room below. It took Lucas three attempts before his hand made audible contact with the cream painted door. He hit it with palm open twice, then took a deep breath and knocked with a fist and white knuckles. She opened the door almost immediately. He hadn't expected that, wasn't on guard, wasn't ready. He caught the tang of some oriental perfume mixed with a faint whiff of baby oil, and slowly raised his eyes to her face. In the background, some game show blared out from the television, and a light in a room beyond shone behind her, illuminating her semi grey hair. He didn't expect that either. His mother had always been a slave to potions, to creams and dyes. Her face looked the same to him, and he didn't understand how that could be. The years were wiped from her face in his eyes, and she was there, his mother. Suddenly his hastily gathered defences were gone, his emotions open to all and his apprehension washed away. He felt nothing but a wave of the purest, cleanest love, and a smile broke over his face as he drank her in. In that moment, he forgave her everything, was willing to promise the world to know she felt the same way. His Mother. "Hi." He said softly. She stared at him for a moment longer, then smiled too. The fake, saccryrine smile one offers to strangers, the kind of smile one offers to those they don't really want to smile at. She held firmly onto the edge of the door with one hand, the other hand folded across her stomach. Her body language was clear. "May I help you, young man?" Lucas hadn't thought it was possible, hadn't thought she could cause him any more pain. He'd spent years carefully building himself the perfect world, the perfect life. It had taken him almost more than he'd been willing to give to try and tie this last loose end. He stepped back from the door with eyes wide and a cold, sickening punch in his gut making him gasp for a shallow breath. He felt the blood rush from his face, and immediately slammed his heart closed, refusing to let her see how much she'd hurt him. He said nothing, as she shrugged at him with a polite expression etched over her. She stepped back, and coolly shut the door in his face. Cleo was sorting music discs, listening to a classical piece while the rain continued to rattle down on the roof of the car. Lucas had only been gone ten minutes, although it seemed longer, and she was somewhat relieved to hear his footsteps above the hammering rain, as he approached the driver's door and swung it open. She waited in silence for him, then spoke his name softly when it became apparent he was not going to speak. "Luc?" He turned to her, his face impassionate, a mask with all emotion suppressed. Not just suppressed, but in the process of being deeply buried. Cleo took Lucas' blond head in her hand and pulled him to her, holding him close to her. He leaned on her warmth, his eyes shut, and one hand clutching at her free arm with a silent sorting of emotion. Finally, he sat up, his eyes still dry. "Cleo", he said slowly, "let's go home." "Okay." "Let's wake up Natalie and Isabel, and take them out for icecream. Just us. Just family." He started the car engine, and took hold of her hand with his free arm. Without looking back, he closed that chapter with the same decisiveness that had made him rich, that had bought him the lifestyle he'd earned with no help from those who'd borne him. The black car pulled out onto the road and gathered speed as it moved away. The woman eight floors above them watched it turn the corner and vanished from her sight. She let the blue material swish out of her hands, and the drapes fell shut again, blocking the street from her view. "Who was that anyway?" Jacob called from the sofa, where an old episode of "Jeopardy" was just ending and "Rumble in the Bronx" was firing up. "9 o'clock at night, a little late for social visits." Cynthia turned to the man who'd steadfastly loved, honoured, obeyed and refused to marry her for the past eight years. "Just a lost salesman." She told him. "Looking for Alice down the hall." "I bet he was." Jacob smirked. "Come here honey, watch this with me." "I'm exhausted." She answered. "Think I'll get some sleep." He lifted his head and rearranged it more comfortably on the sofa. "Suit yourself. 'Night." "Goodnight." Cynthia closed the bedroom door softly behind her, pushing it until she heard the seal click fast. She climbed into bed and pulled the blankets over her head, cocooning herself tightly within them, until only a mere slit of light was visible to her eyes. The occasional roar of a car whipped along the street below, sending waves of sound that gradually died and faded back into murky darkness. The TV went off with a sudden sharp flood of silence, and she heard Jacob turning the water on in the bathroom next door. The soft rush of water was the only sound in her ears, as Cynthia Holt's blue eyes filled quietly up with tears. *************** Questions? Comments? Want to know what my problem with Lucas' mother is? angela :)