Living the Lie Author: Romantique Email: dolph1n@sbcglobal.net Summary: The sequel to "The Accusation." Assumes "Indian Summer" never happened. Rating: N17 - Adult language and situations Classification: Nick Angst and Torture. Distribution: Archive anywhere, but e-mail me, please Author's Note: As we have yet to learn the last name of Nick's drug dealer, Colin, I've chosen to borrow the last name of Ross from Janet Dillon. She used the name, Colin Ross, in her fanfic, "Dealer Beware." Also, I've decided to use Mt. Lebanon as the town where Burton resides, although this has not been clearly established on the show. --+-- Part 1 Burton Fallin's Residence March 17, 2002 Hunkered down in his home study, Burton Fallin swivels his worn yet impressive executive chair around until he faces the credenza against the wall, his back to the room's closed door. He muffles his speech with his hand into the telephone receiver. "I hear what you're saying, Dr. Collins, but he won't come in to see you. Nick is a grown man. What do you suggest I do, physically drag him into your office?" Burton listens intently to the response coming through the receiver. "Your son fired me this morning. If he doesn't want to see me, that's fine. I can recommend a colleague who specializes in memory loss. But it is imperative he see someone. Mr. Fallin, your son is in need of professional help." "I know," Burton sighs and rubs his forehead in concern for his only son. "It's not you, Dr. Collins. He doesn't want to talk to anyone right now. Nick's memory hasn't returned, and he contends it is pointless to see anyone until it does. He is firm and unyielding." "As I said before, I'm concerned that when Nick does begin to recall the violent events of his recent past, he will need the help of a specialist. He may even require medication. You've indicated the police are pressuring you to let them speak with them regarding several issues. As I am no longer his doctor, I can no longer intervene in that area on his behalf. However, I want to go on record here. In my professional opinion, Counselor, it is not a good idea for him to be questioned and interrogated about events he cannot recall. And I cannot over-emphasize the seriousness of your son's fragile mental state." Dr. Collins then sums up what Burton already knows all too well. "Not only is your son dealing with memory loss that was caused by head trauma, but he has been the victim of a violent assault. These issues are only compounded by his history of drug addiction. Nick is a lit time bomb." "I completely understand," Burton says as he lets out a pent up sigh. Straddling the line between an officer of the Court and a parent, Burton chooses to give a politically correct response. "The only thing I can do is to try and get him to see anyone you'd care to recommend when his memory does begin to return. And I will definitely let him know you called." Dr. Collins responds by saying, "I'd like to refer Nick's case to Dr. Arnold Davenport here at the Medical Center. I would be happy to bring Dr. Davenport up to speed. Then, when Nick is ready, perhaps he will respond more favorably with a male therapist." "I want to thank you for your concern, Dr. Collins. It is very apparent to me that you are a consummate professional." Upon ending the phone call, the worried and frustrated father leans back into his chair. Placing entwined fingers behind his neck, he stares up at the ceiling. Nick fired his therapist. Without a psychiatrist, how can I protect him from a police interrogation? His physical trauma is healing, and they want to question him, now. Maybe Carl can help me come up with something. A light rap at the door interrupts his private thoughts. It is Nicholas. "Come on in, son," Burton says as he refocuses his thoughts back to the present. Nick Fallin pokes his head in the door. "Dad, can we talk?" "Sure. Have a seat," Burton stands and joins his son at the table and chairs in the corner of the room. The elder Fallin studies his son's swollen face, still discolored. The pain in Nick's eyes hasn't left since Burton first saw him in the courtroom after the assault. His pain is shadowed by the darkened circles under his eyes, for Nick is also sorely lacking in sleep. Since the beating, his sleep is interrupted each night by violent terrors. It is almost as if he being beaten, over and over again. Burton winces in a pain of his own each time he looks into his son's face. Nicholas looks far older than his years. "I'd like to talk about going home," Nick quietly states, making direct eye contact with his father. "Your therapist just called," Burton changes the subject. "You fired her, huh?" He makes every effort to keep his tone nice and even. Despite the effort to hide it, disappointment seeps through. A deep sigh escapes Nick's lips. The exhalation causes him to grimace when his mending ribs remind him they are not completely healed. "Look Dad, I explained all this," Nick begins. But Burton cuts him off. "I understand that you think therapy is useless. But you fired your therapist? If you don't like Dr. Collins, she is happy to refer you to someone else." He pauses only long enough to gather some additional ammunition for this debate. "You need to see someone. That is not my opinion, son; it is your doctors'." Nick looks down. "I can't." "Hell, you won't talk to me," Burton utters extemporaneously. "You need to be able to talk to somebody." "There is nothing to talk about. I don't remember anything," Nick maintains his veil of deception. He was trained to deceive, and in the fashion of a true litigator, he does it well. Burton leans over the table and lightly taps his son's arm to gain his attention. "But you will remember. And when you do, your doctors have warned me that you shouldn't be alone. I can't force you to see a doctor, and I can't force you to stay here with me. But I wish you would." The look of concern written across Burton's face runs deep and true. Nick sits there with his dad in silence, taking in what Burton has just said. They are deadlocked in their private concern for one another. His father has made it clear he wants him to stay. Despite the fact he knows he needs to leave his father's home, Nick thinks perhaps he shouldn't rock the boat just yet. Fallin Associates Conference Room March 18, 2002 Jake Straka and Burton Fallin are seated in the main conference room behind closed doors. Because he is trying to run a firm and take care of his son's medical and legal matters, Burton came to the conclusion late last night that he is going to need help. And he's decided to bring Jake into his confidence. "A Detective Forrester is on his way over here to talk to me about interrogating Nicholas regarding the Jenny Sinclair case. He wants to see Nick to see if he can identify the man they picked up for Jenny's murder," Burton explains while looking at his watch. He doesn't have much time. "Meanwhile, the District Attorney Chaswell would also like to interview Nick and would ultimately like him to pick out the men who assaulted him from a police lineup. I can't effectively handle both of these matters at the same time, so I want to turn the Jenny Sinclair matter over to you." More than surprised, Jake immediately counters with, "Wouldn't these matters be better handled by Carl Langston?" Jake is more than aware that Carl handled the criminal case against Nick, and he is also aware that all charges had been dropped. "Not really," Burton tries to clarify. "The police want to question Nick about his assault and the Jenny Sinclair murder. They know he didn't kill the Sinclair girl, but they need his help to find who did. The problem lies with his inability to withstand questioning about matters of which he has no memory." From the end of the table, Burton reaches for a file folder. He quickly rifles through its contents until he finds the pertinent papers. "Here are three affidavits from Nicholas' doctors. They state that he sustained substantial memory loss due to a head injury and that he is in no physical or mental condition for questioning regarding issues he does not remember," the senior Fallin recants as he hands the papers to Jake. "And here are some photos taken of Nick at the ER, the night he was admitted after the assault." Upon seeing the photos, Jake winces. His friend is barely recognizable. "Our medical position is this: If Nick is interviewed for matters he cannot remember, for matters that are additionally violent and upsetting, the interview is likely to trigger an emotional reaction that would be detrimental to his recovery and mental state. I will personally hold the Pittsburgh PD and/or the District Attorney's office responsible for any harm coming to Nick due to questioning against medical advice . . . especially in light of the fact he can tell them nothing that would be helpful to their investigations." So passionate is this father in protecting his son, Jake can see that he will be able to handle this matter with a much cooler head. "If you could take care of Detective Forrester, I will meet with the D.A. this afternoon," Burton proposes. "No problem, Burton," Jake replies. Again, he looks down at the photos of Nick taken in the emergency room. "I'll take care of this immediately." Nicholas Fallin's Residence March 28, 2002 2:00 p.m. After nearly a week of debating his father, Nick was finally able to wear down Burton's defenses enough for him to reluctantly agree to take Nick back to his own home. Now in his own comfortable environment, he is alone with his thoughts, alone with his truth and the terror which haunts his dreams. Night after night of interrupted sleep has left Nick exhausted and frightened, as he relives every blow of the beating, as he replays his former drug dealer's threats in his head. But at least he was out of his father's home. Burton stops by and checks on his son in the evening on his way home from the office. And he phones to check up on Nick far too often. Yesterday, Nick's probation officer stopped by to collect a random urine sample, the first since he was released from the hospital. Then, after Burton accompanied him to his ophthalmology appointment, the two stopped by Fallin Associates. Nick knew his father was hoping that a reunion with the staff would trigger something in his memory. But Nick could not allow that to happen. Today, Nick is now on the telephone with Jake Straka. "Did you check to see if you have the Penn Co. file?" Jake asks. "The last time I saw it, it was in your brief case . . . about a month ago?" "I'm sorry. I did check, and I do have the file. I could ask my Dad to bring it to the office tomorrow." "I need to review it before walking into court tomorrow morning. Would it be okay if I stopped by to pick it up? I'm not that far from you." It was now obvious from the background noises that Jake was calling on his cell phone from his car. "I could be there in about 20 minutes?" "Uh, yeah, that would be fine," Nick answers. Then, playing this amnesia charade to the hilt, he added, "Do you know where I live?" "Yes," Jake responds. "I've been to your house a couple of times." Jake recalls, More than once, I've taken Burton's boy home from The Incline after he tied one on. "I'll be there in just a bit, Nick." After hanging up the phone, Nick shuffles upstairs to take a quick shower. Streams of hot pulsating water from the shower head feel nice as they pound against the tight muscles. His mending ribs are still sore, and the muscles in his back contract to overcompensate for the swelling and inflammation. Sometimes, the muscles contract so tightly, they spasm, causing him pain and discomfort. Leaning against the shower wall, he closes his eyes and allows the warm, pulsing jets to work their magic. But he knows he cannot and reluctantly proceeds to lather up. Then very carefully, he shaves, around his bruised and swollen left cheek and eye. Looking at himself in the shower mirror, he is pleased to find his lower lip is almost all healed. Next, he gives himself a thorough rinse, steps out of the shower, and towels himself dry. He leaves a head full of damp, tousled curls to air dry and proceeds to his bedroom, followed by a puff of fragrant steam coming from the bathroom. Nick slips into clean, grey sweats and socks. Just as he is pulling up the second sock, he hears the doorbell ring. From a nearby window, Nick peers out to find Jake standing outside his front door. "Jake, I'll be right there," he shouts. Nick carefully makes his way down the stairs, unbolts the locks and chains on his front door, and allows Jake entrance. "Hey, I've got the file right here," Nick says, handing Jake a file folder some six inches thick. "Thanks. How's it going? You look good," Jake attempts to make some small talk with this relative "stranger." With Nick's memory loss, Jake really doesn't know how well Nick remembers him. "I'm feeling better every day," Nick replies. He knows this trip to pick up this file, is a probably a ruse. More than likely, his father asked Jake to stop by and check on him. Jake gives a Nick a mischievous smile. "Lulu Archer has been calling pretty regularly to see how you are doing. She told me to give you her best if I talked with you." "Yeah, I should probably give her a call," Nick appears to be embarrassed. "When do you think you'll be coming back to the office or to the clinic?" Jake asks, changing the subject and still standing inside the entry way. "And do what?" Nick answers Jake's question with one of his own, and adds a tinge of sarcasm for good measure. "I don't remember the cases I was working on before the . . . the." He can't bring himself to say the word, beating. "I didn't remember having the Penn Co. file or doing any work for the client. I still can't." Burton had warned Jake to be careful about saying anything that might trigger something in Nick's memory. Feeling as if he might have said something wrong, Jake quickly attempts to recover. "Your memory will come back, Nick. Maybe you just need to give it some more time." Nick acknowledges Jake's sentiments and hangs his head. If the truth be known, he does not want his colleague to see his lying face. So good a professional liar is Jake, Nick is concerned that Jake might be able to see through him. And constantly pretending he still has amnesia is taking its toll, even for the skillful Nicholas Fallin. "Look, I've got to get back to the office. Thanks for the file." "No problem," Nick replies with his head still hanging down. "I'll talk to you later?" Jake awkwardly adds. "Okay." As Jake leaves, Nick closes the door behind him and proceeds to lock the series of deadbolts and chains, when he hears a tap on the other side of the door. Nick unlocks the door again when suddenly, it is forced wide open. He is aghast to find his old drug dealer standing before him with a gun in his hand. Colin Firth forces his way into Nick's home and slams the door shut behind him. With the gun barrel pointed direct at Nick's head, he leads Nick to the living room and motions for him to take a seat on the sofa. "What are you doing? You're taking a big chance," Nick flatly says. "How do you know someone else isn't here in the house?" "Because I know you, Nick. You're a loner. You're always alone. Or have you forgotten that, too?" Colin smugly remarks. "There's a reason for my visit today. Word is on the street that the cops have been coming around again, wanting to ask you a lot of questions." "Your information is wrong. I haven't seen or talked to the police since I was in the hospital," Nick corrects his intruder. "And even if the police did want to talk to me, I couldn't tell them much. My memory has not returned." "You expect me to believe that you, a lawyer no less, are not talking to the police?" Colin stands before him as he wildly waives the .32 caliber pistol in his right hand. Slowly, Nick looks around to make eye contact in an attempt to calm this guy down. "You can believe me or not. But I'm telling you the truth." Tired of being afraid, Nick blurts out, "I don't even know your name. You keep coming around, trying to intimidate me. And I don't know why!" "Nick, Nick, Nick. You still don't remember me?" Colin chides. "Let me see if I can help. You see, we go way back, you and me. You used to be a good client of mine." Nick continues to look at Colin, offering him no sign of recognition. "Hey, I bet you'll remember this." And the dealer removes a small plastic bag from his inside jacket pocket. It is filled with a fine, white powder. He places the package on a nearby table. Carefully, he opens it and pops his left index finger into his mouth, closing his lips around the base of his digit. After a moment, he dips the moistened finger into the bag, dragging it through the powder, until his finger is thoroughly coated with the white substance. With cold, dark eyes, Colin stares directly into Nick's wide eyes. "Alvin Masterson has been talking to the police, informing them of all kinds of theories. He mentioned your name, a rape accusation, and your old dealer in the same sentence!" Nick's nostrils flare. "Look, I swear to you I don't know what you are talking about." With the handgun still aimed directly at Nick's head, Colin approaches his former customer with his extended white powdered finger. As the gun inches closer and closer, Nick's head is forced back into the sofa until it can go no further. His eyes widen in disbelief and beads of sweat appear on his forehead as Colin tries to shove the coated digit into Nick's defiantly clenched mouth. "Bite me and I'll shoot," Colin sneers. "Let's see you go and talk to the cops now, you drug addicted son of a bitch!" Nick is trapped, unable to move his head except in a side to side motion against the cushion. This motion only makes it easier for Colin to rub the powdery substance against Nick's upper gums. Nick's face twists in distorted disgust as he continues to struggle; another assault that will not end. Finally, it does stop, and Colin takes a step back. Nick frantically begins to spit the unknown substance out of his mouth. The taste from the residue is immediately recognizable. It is cocaine, his lover from the past. The siren he had to have every day of his life; the siren who was no good for him. He's been unable to forget her. Her seductive bitterness spreads a familiar numbness from his gums, throughout his mouth, around his tongue to ultimately trickle down his throat. Nick closes his eyes and returns to a familiar place, reconnecting with the mistress he thought he would never know again. He valiantly battles with himself. He doesn't want her because she almost ruined his life. And yet, he does. He wants her . . . and even worse, he needs her. "The mind may not remember, Nick, but the body . . . the body never forgets," Colin laments as he sadistically watches the man before him struggle with his demons. Slowly, Nick opens his eyes. His surroundings rush over him, as she brings everything into sharper focus. Colin very carefully studies the dilated pupils of his former client. Then, the agitated dealer begins to rant, "You are fucked up, man. PHARMACEUTICAL! This is pharmaceutical grade. You know, I could call your probation officer and tell him to come on over and grab a urine sample from you, right now," Colin rambles on and lets out a diabolical cackle. "And you'd end up back in jail, my man. No one would listen to anything you have to say. Only this time, `Daddy' won't be able to buy your way out." Holding Nick in his sights with his left hand, Colin then pulls a syringe from his jacket pocket. "Or . . . I could just load this baby up and give you a mainline you'd never forget. Everyone would think you just . . . OD'd." He laughs again. Then, his tone suddenly changes to one of deadly seriousness. "There will be no talking to anyone. Am I getting through to you, Nicky?" With the barrel of the gun shoved up against Nick's already discolored temple, Colin takes his left hand and grabs Nick by the hair, giving his head a violent shake with every forthcoming syllable. "Am-I-get-ting-through-to-you?" he repeats. "Yes," Nick cries out, breathlessly, wanting this surreal experience to stop. Finally, Colin releases Nick's hair from his angry grip. Immediately, Nick grabs his head and holds it still to keep it from spinning around the room. Nick's heart is pounding out of his chest. He concentrates on taking in a breath of air, then letting it out, one breath at a time. The forced breathing hurts his mending ribs. He wills his heart beat to slow to a steady rhythm. Otherwise, he fears he might slip away. His thoughts float in freeform, as he struggles to keep his mind on the simple task of breathing. It takes all the strength he can muster. Moments later, the loud slam of the front door shakes Nick back into his present reality. Colin is gone, but the Nicholas Fallin who is left behind is messed up. He is as high as the sky, but dreads what he knows will follow. After the high, the horrible down always comes. She leaves him all alone, wanting more and more of her illicit pleasure. And then, the self-loathing comes for wanting more of her. Nick comes up on all fours until he slowly makes his way to the corner of the sofa. He wraps himself in a down throw draped over the back of the divan and draws his arms and legs up into himself. From his past experiences with drugs, there is one thing he knows for certain: He is way too high and shouldn't be alone. But who can he call? Who can he trust? --+-- Part 2 Nick Fallin's Residence March 30, 2002 4:20 p.m. Burton Fallin stands outside the front door to his son's residence, repeatedly ringing the door bell. There is no answer nor has there been an answer to his phone calls. In fear and frustration, he reaches into his trouser pocket and fumbles for his key to Nick's house. "Nicholas," Burton calls out; his voice booming as he enters the premises. "Are you here, son?" Burton quickly walks well into the entry, where he surveys the bottom floor of the residence. Suddenly, he sees the top of his son's head in the living room. He is lying on the sofa. "Nicholas," he gasps and quickly walks into the living room and around the sofa. Nick stares at him with glassy eyes but does not answer. He doesn't look well and is perspiring through his sweats, even as he tightly clenches the sage green throw close to his body for warmth. "Are you all right? I tried to call you back, but you didn't answer your phone," Burton tries to explain. Instinctively, he reaches down to touch his son's forehead and finds the skin is cool and clammy to the touch. "Could I, could I have some water?" Nick whispers. His throat is dry, his face ashen. "Uh, yeah. You hang on here. I'll be right back." Burton hurries to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He returns with a full glass and helps his son sit in an upright position. He holds the glass steady as Nick slowly replenishes his body with the needed fluid. "More," Nick whispers after he takes the last drink. When Burton returns with the refill, he finds Nick shaking with hard chills. "Son!" Burton shouts with alarm. "What's wrong?" "I . . . I need to take my anti-convulsant. Over there . . . on the end table," Nick answers weakly through his chattering teeth. Burton grabs the nearby prescription bottle and quickly pours a pill into his palm. He then gives it to Nick and tries to hold the glass steady while his shivering son takes in some more water and swallows the medication. The elder Fallin is becoming more and more alarmed with each passing moment. "I'm going to call an ambulance," he thinks aloud. "No," Nick manages to get the word out, after swallowing the pill. "I'll be fine. I fell asleep today and missed two doses. I don't think it was a very good idea." Nick continues to shiver, despite his convincing performance. Unsure as to whether or not he should accept the explanation, Burton finally asks, "Do you need another blanket?" "Yes, please," Nick responds. "And more water." While his dad is out of the room, Nick takes another anti-convulsant out of the bottle and swallows it without any water. From somewhere in his druggie days, he remembers a cocaine overdose requires the administration of anti-convulsants and forced fluids. The small amount of pharmaceutical grade cocaine he ingested must have been too potent for him to handle. Burton soon returns again with more water and another blanket. Nick takes another shaky sip of water to wash down the last pill he swallowed. Then, his father wraps the blanket around his shoulders. "I still think I should l get you to a hospital," Burton repeats. The worried look on his father's face is not waning. Nick can't go to the hospital. He can't go anywhere near a laboratory that might test his blood or urine. He concentrates on remaining cognizant and soaking in the warmth of the blanket. "Sit with me, okay?" he asks his dad, making a solid attempt to sound stronger. "If I'm not better after awhile, I promise to call the doctor myself." "All right," Burton reluctantly agrees and takes a seat next to Nick on the sofa. "Were you feeling this bad when you called?" Burton asks, pulling the blanket together near Nick's neck. "Yeah," Nick nods. His teeth are still chattering. I thought I could tell you about Colin and the cocaine, Dad. But I can't. You would never believe I was given this stuff against my will. Who would? After three more glasses of water, Nick needs to use the bathroom, and his dad helps him get there. He is soaking wet from perspiration. All that water has to go somewhere. And he keeps drinking more. In the early evening, Burton brings Nick a hot mug of soup. He dutifully drinks every last drop. Soon afterwards, Nick announces, "I think I would like to take a shower." He pulls the drenched sweatshirt away from his skin, feeling as if maybe he's turned the corner. "A nice, hot shower might make you sleep better," his father agreed. So, Burton helps his shaky son up the stairs and to the shower. Once inside the bathroom, Burton reaches into the shower and starts the warm water flowing. He then checks the linen closet and finds two clean towels and places them near the shower stall. "Do you need any pajamas," Burton asks. "There's a clean robe and some sleepwear in this closet," and Nick points to the closed closet doors. Then, Burton says, "Just call me if you need me. I'll be down the hall making a few phone calls. And I think I should plan on staying here with you tonight." "Okay," Nick responds, and he nods his head in agreement. Any thing is better than going back to the hospital. And he would feel better if he was not alone tonight. Burton leaves his son so that he can get washed up. Still weak from the encounter with his old, chemical lover, he leans against the wall for support as he begins to disrobe. He's come down hard from the high. As he pulls off his shirt over his head, something falls out of the pocket and onto the floor. It is a glass vial. He reaches into the shirt pocket and pulls out a card with a phone number. Suddenly, Nick is furious. He bends down to pick up the vial. The bathroom is beginning to become steamy, so Nick reaches into the shower and turns the flow from the hot water faucet down. Then, he turns on the exhaust fan to take away the humidity in the room. After closely examining the vial, he walks over to the toilet and raises the lid. He removes the top from the tiny bottle. But just as he is about to dump his lover's contents into the commode and flush her away into the Pittsburgh sewer system, an overwhelming desire for his lady love stops him. He reaches down to close the lid on the commode and takes a seat. Then, he skillfully taps out a miniscule amount of the vial's contents onto the cool marble countertop. He presses his fingertip into the fine powder and draws it up to the tip of his tongue. He closes his eyes as he waits for its taste to register. The pleasure center of his brain immediately responds with recognition. He slowly rolls her around and around his mouth with the tip of his tongue, relishing her wicked taste. Then, he carefully studies the amount of powder in the vial. A sudden, burning desire stirs from deep within his pelvis, coinciding with thoughts which alternate between making love to his snow mistress and to Lulu Archer . . . and then, the two desires merge into one, a ménage a trois of sorts. After mentally exploring exquisite, sensual possibilities, he just as suddenly becomes very practical. But his steely resolve quickly dissipates as the pleasure center of his brain screams for satiation, and he turns his masterful skill for negotiation . . . on himself. He strikes a bargain with himself to see his old mistress just once more. Very quietly, he opens the medicine cabinet in search of some impromptu paraphernalia. After finding nothing useful, he rummages through some drawers until he comes across fingernail clippers. He pulls the handle out, away from the main part of the clippers. As if he's done this a million times, he taps out mere micrograms of the white stuff from the vial onto a small indentation at the tip of the clipper handle. Slowly, he raises his lover to his right nostril and takes her all in with a quick "sniff." Enjoying every second of her, he closes his eyes and waits a moment. Satisfied the stuff is not laced with poison; he repeats the process and takes her in again, up into his left nostril. Next, he caps the vial tightly and places her into his robe pocket. Then, he forages for every last possible particle of her essence, from the countertop and the clipper handle, messaging her sensual residue into his gums. Now, he feels like taking a shower. Now, he feels like taking on the world. "Hey, Nick, how are you doing in there?" Burton eventually taps on the closed bathroom door from the hallway. "I'm doing fine, Dad," he answers with a look of contentment on his face that only a lover can bring. April 2, 2002 Point State Park 1:30 p.m. "Thanks for picking me up. I can't drive as long as I'm taking anti- convulsants," Nick says as he politely tears off a small piece from a chicken leg and pops into his mouth. "I thought it might be good for you to get out. You know, get some fresh air. Do you need a napkin?" Lulu asks, passing him one before he can answer. "You look good. The swelling in your face is going down." She can't help but recall how bad he looked when she visited him in the hospital. Nick gives her a shy little grin, and she returns the smile. Lulu tries to hide her concern. The truth is, Nick has lost a lot of weight since he was hospitalized; thus, the reason behind today's plans. Or at least, that is what she tries to tell herself. She genuinely likes being with Nick. Since his assault, he is gentler, more vulnerable. He needs her, and she needs to be needed. The sun is shining on this unseasonably warm, spring day. All over Pittsburgh, people are donning short sleeves for the first time this year. The two young attorneys are seated on a blanket under the canopy of an enormous tree at the far end of the park. Lulu packed a picnic lunch with all the fixings. She's decided to embark on an active campaign to put some weight back on this guy. She is slightly embarrassed when he politely turns down the wine she packed with a pair of glasses. Immediately, she chastises herself for being so insensitive. I wonder if he's been told about his history with substance abuse. "The doctors told me I shouldn't have any alcohol. I guess it's because of the medication I'm taking," he explained, careful to keep in character of one who lost his memory. "How do the doctors say you're doing?" she asks, turning the conversation in another direction and stretching her legs out in front of her. "They say I'm coming along, except for my memory." He looks down to avoid her eyes, self-conscious of his lies and his reintroduction to his snow mistress. "You still can't remember anything?" she asks with sympathetic eyes. "No," he shakes his head and wraps the remaining chicken in the napkin and places it off the blanket. "What's the matter? Don't you like it?" Lulu asks, referring to the chicken. "Oh . . . yes . . . it's great. I'm just not that hungry," he tries to explain. Then, he then stretches out his body on the blanket and lays on his side next to Lulu. "I am so sorry you still can't remember your past. It must be hard," she says, reaching over to take his hand in hers. Nick is under the influence again today, thus the reason he has no appetite. Another side effect his snow mistress provides is a heightened sense of touch. His hand feels wonderful in hers. He looks up and their eyes meet. Unable to control the feelings stirring deep within, he says, "I have this overwhelming urge to . . . take you in my arms and . . ." Lulu blushes and places her fingers to his lips to quiet him. She reaches down and gently touches the side of his healing face with her fingertips, something she has wanted to do for weeks but was waiting for right time. And here it is. She draws her mouth down to his lips; her passion matched by his. Their tongues meet and entwine, taking her breath away as their kissing becomes deeper and more urgent. Soon, Nick is kissing her face and her eyes. His soft, pouting lips trail down her neck. She closes her eyes and throws her head back, allowing his mouth to have access to her cleavage. She holds his head at her breast and buries her own face down into his hair. "Nick," she breathlessly whispers. "We're in public." He glances around them, as he shifts his body closer to hers. "But we're the only ones here," he assures her and pulls her down into his arms and presses the length of his body next to hers. Their fully clothed arms merge, then legs, then torsos. And finally, their clothed pelvises meet. Nick kisses her mouth again as he moves on top of her. She feels his heated passion throbbing through the denim of his jeans, and it only feeds her need to feel more of his intimate touch. He reaches around and pulls the other end of the blanket over them, checking again to make sure there is no one around. Then under the covers, he provocatively runs his finger near her clothed opening. She lets out a soft moan of pleasure. He continues to tease her in this manner, as he gently thrusts his clothed desire near hers. Nick wants to consummate their relationship here and now. After a few moments, his want is matched as her slacks are moistened by her desire. "Don't move," Nick whispers, as he reaches down and begins to remove the clothing covering the lower half of her body. Soon, she is exposed, naked to his touch from her waist down to her knees. She is covered only by Nick and the blanket; she can not believe they are about to make love in a public park. But she, too, can see no one around. And she so badly wants Nick that it's too late to put out her fire. Nick pulls a condom from his pocket and then slyly frees himself from his own clothing, as she manages to kick off her slacks, freeing her legs. Nick gazes at her with loving eyes as he opens his package. "Remember, don't move. No one will ever know what we are about to do except me and you," he gives her a boyish smile. Another look around tells him they are alone with nature. He rolls the condom over his erection which is made even more sensitive and impressive by his snow mistress. With his index finger, he gently probes her and finds she is flowing with honey, ready to take him. Ever so slowly, he enters the woman he has only dreamed of having. Her primal instinct is to meet him with a thrust of her own. But he stops her, slowly and teasingly inching his way into her until he completely fills her need. Her internal muscles grab hold of him and begin to spasm in a rhythm which drives him crazy. In turn, he pulsates inside her, only feeding her need to mate with this man. "Don't move," he reminds her, giving her a look of such awe. He then checks their surroundings again for any spectators. There are none. "I don't believe this," she says softly, returning the same look. "Never have I experienced such . . . : ". . . such mutual desire in public place?" Nick finishes her sentence for her. "Yes," she smiles, moaning with pleasure as her body continues to massage his wonderful length. "I've never experienced such pleasure." "Neither have I," he whispers. Hearing this is all the encouragement he needs. He sets out to prolong her pleasure by giving her slow, long strokes timed to precisely to meet her internal rhythm. "I don't know how much longer I can hold on," she confesses in between her stifled moans of pleasure. "I'm going to go over the edge soon. I can feel it." "I can feel it, too," he moans in delight. "It's the most wonderful feeling in the world." "Go over the edge with me," she coaxes him, rubbing his muscular back underneath his shirt. "I'd love to," he responds, further slowing his strokes to cause a tortured, shared pleasure-pain. "Nick?" Lulu asks. "Yes?" he looks deeply into her dark eyes. She is different than the other women he's had. They offer him sex, and he takes what he need from them with not much concern over their needs. But he has this yearning to please Lulu, as no other has. He wants to give to her. "I love you," she lets out in the height of her passion. Her confession surprises even her self. She had to be the one to say it first. "I love you, too," Nick assures her. And he gently takes her lower lip between his teeth and cups her breast underneath her shirt in his hand. He can feel her approaching the crest of her wave, and he gives her even more. "Oh, Nick," she closes her eyes, opening her legs even wider so that she can take all of him. She grabs his lower back and well-formed buttocks, holding on for dear life. "You're going with me, right?" she pants. "Yes," he whispers while cupping her breast in his hand. "Now?" His throbbing, pleasure pain nears its peak. "Yes, yes," she moans, more urgently this time. He covers her mouth with his to muffle their mutual moans and cries of pleasure. The crashing of her tidal wave touch off an explosion in him which, in turn, brings her to even greater heights of pleasure than she has ever known. Breathless, they lie together in the glowing embers from their fire and hold one another's spent body. After a time, Lulu speaks. "Was that what they call a simultaneous climax?" she asks, rather naively. "I would say so" he smiles with his eyes. "Well, I never," she giggles. "Me, neither, but I promise you, it won't be our last." And he gently kisses the woman he loves. Nick Fallin's Residence April 2, 2002 10:30 p.m. Tonight, Lulu Archer came home with Nick from the park. Now in the privacy of his home, they pleasure one another in every way and every room possible. They can't seem to get enough of one another. Eventually, they become famished and go to the kitchen for some food. Then, they snack on one another. At the end of their carnal meal, Nick excuses himself to his upstairs bathroom. Despite the pleasurable distraction Lulu provides, he is compelled to have more of his snow mistress. Over the past few days, he has been extremely judicious in the use of her man-made chemistry. But today's opportunity to experience this ménage a trois is a temptation he can not resist. Once again, he succumbs to the call of his old mistress and takes some more of her up his nose. After a short time, Lulu taps on the door. Before he opens it, he hides his old love and turns on the shower. "Nick?" she calls. He opens the door and takes her hand. They take a long, sensuous shower together and make love, yet again. Perfectly satisfied, Nick takes Lulu into his bed where they hold one another's spent bodies until they drift off into a delicious sleep. But rest is short lived. Nick suddenly begins to thrash about. He cries out in his sleep, waking Lulu. He is having another night terror about his beating, reliving every painful blow. "Nick?" Lulu softly whispers near his ear. "Wake up, Nick." He doesn't respond, so she tries again, only louder this time. "Nick, Nick! Wake up. I'm here with you. You're having a bad dream," "Wha . . .," Nick sits straight up in bed. His eyes fly wide open, and he is breathing hard as adrenaline pulses through his veins. "You were having a bad dream, Nick," Lulu answers tenderly. She gently begins to rub small circles on his upper back in an effort to get him to calm down. "You're safe, Nick. You're here . . . with me," she tries to assure him. It takes a moment for Nick to reorient himself. And all the while, Lulu is there with him, rubbing his back. "It's okay," she whispers reassurances in his ear over and over. It takes quite a while for him to shake the feeling of terror because every time he has this dream, it always turns out the same: He is beaten and beaten until . . . he dies. "Nick, do you want to talk about it?" she asks, lightly kissing his shoulder. "What?" It is obvious he didn't hear her. He is miles and miles away. "Sometimes it helps to talk about bad dreams. I thought it might make you feel better to talk about it." While she is talking to him, she is careful to maintain her touch. He is aware of her touch, and it is keeping him grounded. "I'm so tired," Nick utters as he lies back down and closes his eyes. The constant interruption to his sleep all these weeks is taking its toll. Lack of sound sleep, coupled with coming down off the coke has left him utterly exhausted. Lulu lies down beside him and pulls the covers up over them. He cradles her head on his shoulder, and they snuggle close. "Sleep, Nick. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere," she whispers. They hold one another until he finally goes back to sleep. The recurring nightmare returns two more times during the night. Tears pool in her deep brown eyes as she watches him sleep. It is hard for her to see firsthand what this tortured man is going through. She gently kisses him on the side of his temple. Then, she snuggles close to him and holds him tight, afraid to let go. Nick Fallin's Residence April 2, 2002 7:00 a.m. The next morning, Lulu awakes to find she is alone in Nick's bed. She looks at the clock on the nightstand. It is 7 a.m. Nick left a terry cloth robe on the foot of the bed for her. She slips it on and makes her way to the bathroom down the hall. There, she finds everything she needs to take a shower. She turns on the water and while waiting for it to warm, she brushes her teeth. After showering, she towels herself dry and slips the robe back on. With bare feet and a wet head, she makes her way down the stairs to find Nick in the kitchen, already showered, dressed in sweats, and drinking coffee. "Good morning," he smiles. "Would you like a cup?" he offers. "Please," she smiles as she approaches him. He hands her a steaming cup of java. She can't help but notice that Nick's voice sounds rough and gravelly this morning, and he looks so tired. Then, when he sniffles several times, she walks over to him and brushes the hair on his forehead back with her fingertips. "You're kind of warm. Are you feeling okay?" she asks and puts her arm around him. He lays his heavy head on her shoulder and closes his eyes. "I think I'm coming down with a cold." And he clears the drainage from the back of his throat. They stand in the middle of the kitchen holding one another. Believing it is her fault that Nick is getting sick, she says, "I probably shouldn't have taken you out for so long yesterday." Nick immediately stand up straight and takes her face into her hands. "Are you kidding? I wouldn't trade yesterday for anything." His words are comforting and sincere, but he looks and sounds terrible. Lulu can just look into his eyes and tell he is miserable. "Would you like me to stay here with you today? I can call in sick," she offers, still holding him. "I can take care of you, give you plenty of TLC," she seductively smiles. Conscientious Lulu has plenty of accumulated sick time. How Nick loves this woman, and he would love nothing more than to spend the entire day and upcoming weekend lying close to her. But he can't because two lovers are vying for his attention, and he's decided one of them must go. He's decided to spend this weekend alone, and banish the other lover from his life for good. Lulu deserves nothing less. "Oh, no. You shouldn't do that," Nick declares. "Your work is important." "So are you," she counters. "Look, today is Friday. You should go into work. The clinic is shorthanded," he counters her counter. "And besides, I'm just going to get some rest today and try to kick this cold. There wouldn't be anything for you to do but watch me sleep." "I love to watch you sleep," she takes his hands into hers and kisses them. "Why don't we compromise? You rest today, and I'll call you this evening and see how you're feeling?" "Perfect," he agrees. "I'd kiss you, but I don't want you to get my cold." Lulu flashes him another smile. "I've already been exposed." And their embrace sparks into yet another passionate interlude. --+-- Part 3 Allegheny Medical Center April 2, 2003 9:15 a.m. Burton Fallin paces the floor in the reception area of Dr. Davenport's office. He hates to be kept waiting, especially when he is here on such an urgent matter. Finally, the receptionist calls him into the back office where he is directed to the doctor's private office and offered a seat in front of an empty desk. The nurse then leaves him there to wait again, closing the door behind her. After several more minutes of waiting, a tall, dark man enters the room. "Mr. Fallin? I'm Dr. Davenport," the doctor extends his hand for the customary handshake. Burton reciprocates the custom. "Thank you again for seeing me on such short notice, Doctor. I have an urgent matter that has suddenly become even more urgent." Dr. Davenport takes a seat behind his desk. Nick's file sits before him on the desk, and he begins to look through it. "Your son was referred to me by Dr. Collins. Is he here with you, today?" the doctor asks. "No. Did Dr. Collin explain that Nick, my son, lost his memory and doesn't want to see anyone until his memory returns?" He feels absolutely awkward offering his son's ludicrous position to the doctor. "She told me Nick was badly assaulted and sustained injuries that caused swelling to his brain. And that his memory was affected. It's also documented in his file. And she also said he's not the most talkative patient she's ever had," Dr. Davenport summarizes what he knows. "Boy, that's an understatement . . . about the talkative part," Burton tries to make light. "The men who beat my son are scheduled to appear in court next week. Between Dr. Collin's medical opinion of his condition and that of the hospital case manager, I've been able to keep Nick from being interrogated by the police and the District Attorney's office . . . until now," Burton explains. "You see, he still doesn't remember the assault. He has these nightmares where he is being beaten. But he says he never sees the faces." Burton sighs and continues, "The prosecution doesn't need his testimony. They have enough physical evidence and testimony from jail personnel to convict these guys. Now, it's the defense that is pushing for Nicholas, the victim, to testify." "They want him to testify that he knows nothing?" the doctor is surprised. "What would be the point?" "They want to try and raise reasonable doubt, but that tactic won't work in this case. So to answer your question, there really is no point to having Nick testify," Burton explains. "And that is why I'm here to see you. When Nick was released from the hospital, I was told to wait for Nick to remember what happened to him in his own time. How can I do that in light of this case? And how am I supposed to get him prepared to give testimony next week when he hasn't been told anything about the case? I don't want to do anything that would jeopardize his recovery." "I see your problem," Dr. Davenport nods. The room is silent for a moment while the two professionals try to come up with an answer. "If Nick were to speak to me, could I then testify on his behalf?" the doctor asks. "No because that would be hearsay," Burton replies, "unless we have an affidavit signed by Nick, stating he doesn't remember the assault. Then, your expert testimony would support his affidavit. And your medical opinion could be offered to the Court as to why Nicholas cannot testify in person. Burton begins thinking aloud. "Of course, your qualifications as an expert witness would first be subject to a Daubert challenge, but that is standard procedure and would not be a problem." "Based on his history, I believe having me in Court to support your son's written statement would be preferable to subjecting him to the stresses of a trial," the doctor concurs. "But this scenario does leave us with a dilemma. How are you going to convince your son to see me? You're going to have to talk to him about the assault. He may remember the incident and then, he would have to testify on his own behalf." "I had already reached that conclusion. I just wanted you to confirm that I'm doing the right thing," Burton rubs his face with concern and then sighs. "Is there any way you could be there when I do?" "Yes, I can be there, but be aware that your son may not want me there," the doctor answers. "The hearing is scheduled for next week. Is there any way you could meet me at my son's home tonight? I wouldn't ask you on such short notice if I didn't think it was imperative," Burton asks. "Well, I'll need to change my schedule around. But sure, I can be there at about 6:30. Just leave the address and directions with my secretary." "Thank you, Dr. Davenport," Burton is grateful for the help. "I'll see you tonight." Nick Fallin's Residence April 2, 2002 3:30 p.m. Early this morning, Nick made a decision. His will not use any more of Colin's gift. As soon as Lulu left his home for the office, he dumped the remaining blow down the toilet, rinsed out the vial, and crushed it in the trash compactor. Yesterday's binging left him with a terrible hangover, and he is fighting strong cravings for more of the drug. He knows the next few days are going to be difficult, as his deserved penance for giving into his weakness. He's holed himself up in the living room for the next 72 hours with everything he needs: tissues, blankets, plenty of bottled water, prescription meds, and his phone. He even loaded up on Vitamins A and B Complex and had 2 bowls of soup and juice for lunch. Lulu and his dad will want to come over and check up on him later today, but he thinks he can make his cold story work to keep them away until Monday. After a three day detox, he should be feeling a lot better. Yes, Nick has it all figured out, and being with Lulu is giving him the impetus he needs to get clean. Whenever he feels the call of his old siren, he turns his thoughts to Lulu. Lying on the sofa, he wishes he could sleep, as it would make this long weekend pass a little faster. But he can't; he is too anxious. While lying there feeling rather sorry for himself, the phone rings. The caller I.D. indicates it is his dad calling from the office. "Dad?" Nick voice croaks into the phone. "Nicholas? Is that you? You sound terrible!" Burton responds. "I woke up the morning with a cold," Nick lies, but he won't have to continue this lie for much longer. "Are you all right? Do you have a fever?" "I'm taking care of myself, fluids and rest," Nick reports, trying to put his father's mind at ease. "Uh, son, the reason I called is that something very urgent has come up. You and I need to talk . . . tonight." Nick's anxiety is turned up a notch. "What about? Can't we talk now?" "No. This is something I have to do in person." "Dad, I'm really not feeling well." He is beginning to sound bad. "I'm sorry you're sick, but we need to deal with this tonight, face to face." Burton wishes he could just get this over with, but he also needs to know Nick will be home tonight. "It sounds serious," Nick probes his dad further for more information. "It is," Burton replies, not giving anything away. "But don't worry son. Everything is going to be fine. I'll be over a little after six, okay?" Burton pushes. "Okay," Nick answers with hesitancy and then hangs up the phone. Nick's mind begins to spin. The man who so desperately needs to be in control of everything is losing that control. He needs to be alone this weekend so that he can detoxify in private. And he's already climbing the walls with anxiety. His mind won't stop spinning. He is becoming more and more anxious by the minute and is losing his ability to cope. Nick begins to pace the floor and tries to get his mind off of his anxiety by turning his thoughts to Lulu . . . but it's not working. The discomfort he is experience is quickly becoming unbearable. And the only one who can help him is gone. His snow mistress is gone. Nick clenches his eyes shut and breathes deeply, feeding his brain more oxygen as he tries to think of a way out. Then out of nowhere, it comes to him. He races up the stairs and into his bathroom, tearing through the laundry hamper in search of the sweats he wore the other night. Finally, he finds them near the bottom and begins to forage through the pockets. He comes up empty handed. It was his last hope. He collapses into a seated position on the floor amidst the dirty laundry. His heavy head falls forward into his hands, and he begins to sob. The sobbing becomes so intense, Nick keels over onto the floor until is lying in the fetal position. From the floor, he notices a grey card in the pile of clothing. He keys in on the card and the sobbing stops as suddenly as it began. He picks it up and looks at it through tear-filled eyes. Nick races down the hallway to his bedroom and to the phone, frantically punching in the phone number. "Yo," a voice answers on the other end. "Uh, my name is Nick and, uh," he suddenly doesn't know what to say. "Nick Fallin?" Colin asks. "Is this my man?" "Uh, yeah. Look, I'm sorry I don't remember your name, but . . ." Nick lies. Colin cuts him off. "You don't need to know my name. The important thing is that I know who you are. My guess is that you found the gift I left for you. Am I right?" "Uh, yes. And I was wondering, I was wondering . . .," Nick's face is twitching from nervousness. "You were wondering how to get some more," Colin finishes his sentence. "All you have to do is say the word, my man, and it's yours." "How much? I mean, how do we do this?" "This is how it's going to work," Colin explains. "All you have to do is call this number and give me the word, and a refill will be delivered to your home mailbox within the hour. And as long as you keep your big mouth shut to the cops about things, it's on me." There is a slight pause. "I can't be of any help to the police. I don't remember anything. I've never really understood what you don't' want me to say," Nick plays along. "Then, there should be no problem," Colin chuckles. "So, is that why you're calling me, Nick, to give me the word?" "Yeah," Nick affirms. "Within the hour, my man. Check your mailbox within the hour." And Colin disconnects their call. Nick sits down hard on the edge of his bed and lets out a long sigh of relief. His problem is solved, at least for the present. As far as the future goes, he can't deal with it now. He knows why Colin wants him to stay away from the police. It's not about the beating; the beating was a warning. And it's not about the Jenny Sinclair case; at least, that's not where it all started. This is all stems from the Malcolm Dempsey case. Somehow, Colin found out that Nick was the informant who tipped off the police in order to clear Malcolm of murder charges. In the land of drug lords, Colin was blamed for the subsequent arrest and conviction of the killer, a rival drug dealer. That dealer was a big fish. And now, Colin Firth is most likely a marked man, all because of Nick. But what no one knows is that, even if Nick had not been assaulted, he never would have turned Colin in to the police. He's told himself there is no reason to. It would be too dangerous. And Nick admits to himself another reason for not turning Colin in. Where else would I get my blow? Legal Services of Pittsburgh April 2, 2002 4:45 p.m. Today has been a horrendous day at the clinic. Understaffed as usual, Lulu had to pinch hit for two, emergency shelter hearings in addition to a custody hearing. She has been running non-stop ever since she arrived at work this morning. Although Nick stays on her mind, this is the first chance she's had to call and check on him. She heads for her office and closes the door. Once seated at her desk, she dials his number and kicks off her shoes. "Hi, Lulu," Nick answers, seeing her number on the caller ID. He sounds like he has a cold. "Nick. How are you feeling?" she asks as she puts her bare feet up, on top of the waste basket under her desk. "About the same," he lies. The truth is, as of about ten minutes ago, Nick is feeling great. "You do sound out of it," she notices. "Listen, I was thinking I might pick up some chicken soup from the deli and come over and feed it to you," she playfully suggests. He hesitates, "My dad is on his way over. He says he needs to talk to me right away about something very important. He said it was serious." "Oh, wow," Lulu is surprised. "What do you think it's about?" "I have no idea. He wouldn't tell me anything over the phone," he explains. Nick begins to have carnal thoughts about Lulu. His snow mistress has a way of heightening the attraction he already feels for her. Maybe she should come over after his dad leaves. His body reacts in agreement. "I could call you when Dad leaves," he proposes. "I have your cell phone number." "Okay. I'll wait to hear from you. I love you, Nick," she says, sounding very sure of herself. "Lulu, I love you," Nick confesses. "Bye." Now that Lulu has some extra time on her hands, she packs up her brief case and call it a week. She decides to go home and take a long, fragrant bath and pack a few extra things. The thought of being with Nick again is exhilarating. She had always found Nick to be attractive, but yesterday was more wonderful than she could have ever anticipated. Never before has a man shown so much concern for her and her needs. Brian never did. Nick unselfishly put her needs first, all day and all night. At the same time, she is concerned about him. He is fragile, vulnerable, and lost. The arrogant man who was always so sure of himself; it is difficult to see him like this. Tonight, she decides that she will take care of him. She just hopes he's okay after talking to his father. If he's not, she will be there for him. Nick Fallin's Residence April 2, 2002 6:15 p.m. Burton arrives at Nick's place on schedule. The two men are standing near the kitchen. "Do you mind telling me what this is all about?" Nick is tired of waiting to find out. "I'll tell you in just a few minutes. I'm waiting for someone to join us," Burton discloses. "Who?" Nick wants to know. His voice cracks and sounds scratchy in the throat. Burton begins to explain, "Dr. Collins referred your case to Dr. Arnold Davenport. I spoke with him this morning and . . ." "No way, Dad," Nick stops Burton in mid-sentence. His is visibly angry. "How could you bring a shrink to my home . . . without my permission?" He is losing his voice. "Wait Nicholas; it's not like that at all." Burton can tell Nick is tuning him out. "Damn it, would you just listen to me?" Burton raises his voice. "You were in the hospital, right? Horribly beaten, right? Well, the police wanted to question you about the assault." "What are you talking about? The police DID question me in the hospital." Nick is becoming atypically agitated. "I told them I couldn't remember anything about the beating. And I still can't." "I KNOW, son. But now, the suspects are going to trial next week. Their defense attorneys want you to come into Court and testify that you don't remember anything," he tries desperately to explain what is going on. "So? I testify that I don't remember anything. What is the big deal?" Nick is visibly upset. "The big deal is that you need to remember things on your own son, in your own time. Dr. Collins and Dr. Davenport both contend that it may be harmful for you to be questioned or interrogated, much less cross examined about your assault. Due to your doctors' medical opinions, you have been spared interrogations," Burton further explains, nervously running his hand over his head and his fingers through his disappearing hairline. "If we submit an affidavit stating that you have no memory of the assault, and Dr. Davenport can support your affidavit, then you will not have to undergo the stress of testifying. That is ALL this is about. I swear." Burton is red in the face and has tears in his eyes. Nick stands there, taking in all the information. It suddenly occurs that his father is only trying to protect him. If only you really knew. "Dad," Nick suddenly changes his tune. "Of course I will meet with the doctor." Just at that moment, the doorbell rings. "Well that's good because Dr. Davenport is here," his dad announces. Burton answers the door. After a brief introduction, Burton suggests they all go into Nick's living room to talk. Once they are seated, Burton begins. "Prior to your arrival, I explained the purpose of your visit to Nicholas, Dr. Davenport. I explained that, despite his loss of memory, he is wanted in Court to testify next week regarding his assault. I've told him nothing more." "You are aware you were assaulted last month, correct, Nicholas?" Dr. Davenport asks, assuming nothing. "Nick. Please. Call me Nick. Yes, I'm aware I was beaten," Nick replies, his voice raspy. "Is there anything you can tell me about the beating?" "No." The doctor gently questions Nick further. What is the first thing you remember after the beating?" "Waking up in the hospital," Nick explains. "What is your earliest memory before going to the hospital?" the doctor persists. Nick hangs his head. "Graduating from law school." Dr. Davenport changes direction by asking, "Nick, your father said you are having some bad dreams . . . dreams about being beaten?" Nick nods his head with reluctance, distrustful of where the doctor is going with this. "What can you tell me about the dream?" "Not a whole lot," he declares. "I'm being beaten, but I can't see anything." "Do you hear anything?" "No." "Do you smell or taste anything?" "No." "In the dream, do you feel anything?" The doctor does not relent. "I feel pain," Nick glares at the doctor. "How do you feel about losing the memory of so much of your life?" "You sound like Dr. Collins," Nick says with sarcasm in his voice. "I'm not going to talk about how I feel. I will only tell you what I know. I know nothing about the beating because I can't remember it," Nick maintains, his voice is now gone. Dr. Davenport shakes his head and then, turns his attention to the senior Fallin. "I am satisfied that Nick has no memory of his recent assault. And I am willing to testify to such in Court. But Nick," the doctor turns back to the younger Fallin, "you must promise to see me or another therapist of your choice when your memory returns." And the doctor stands and hands Nick one of his business cards. "I can let myself out," he announces. Burton jumps to his feet. "I'll walk you out." As the two approach the front door, Burton extends his hand. "Thank you again, for your help." The doctor responds by saying, "He's afraid to remember. Please do call me when he's ready." "Afraid of what?" Burton is surprised at the doctor's remark. "Only Nick knows. As Dr. Collins said, Nick is a man of few words. Goodnight." After closing the door, Burton returns to the living room. "So, are you okay with this? Are we okay?" "Yes," Nick nods. "I'll have the affidavit prepared for your signature, and Sheila will notarize it for you. Maybe I can bring you into the office Monday morning. Your affidavit plus Dr. Davenport's testimony should take care of this." "Thank you," Nick's reply is inaudible. It is hard for Nick to say `thank you' even when he has his voice. "You're not feeling well, so I'm going to take off now. Uh, do you need anything before I leave? Can I get you something?" "No," Nick whispers. "I'm going to go to bed." "That's where you should be. I'll call you over the weekend . . . you know, to see how you're doing. Goodnight son." "Night, Dad." --+-- Part 4 Nicholas Fallin's Residence April 2, 2002 8:00 p.m. Not long after Burton leaves his son's house, Nick decides to phone Lulu as promised. The fear of having to testify and be cross examined about Colin's cronies has dissipated. Before he places the call, he decides to celebrate by going upstairs for a little more of his snow mistress. By the time he dials her number, he is feeling pretty good and becomes instantly aroused upon hearing Lulu's voice. The pleasure center of brain screams for attention, so he does nothing to discourage her from coming over. He tells himself he will detoxify . . . later. Before hanging up, he gives her the fast, nickel version of his dad's visit and purposefully omits the part about the shrink. She is glad to hear he won't have to testify but is concerned as she listens to the reason why: Nick's mental state is fragile. Lulu arrives within 30 minutes. As Nick answers the door, their eyes meet and ignites their smoldering fire. He takes some items from her hands, quickly placing them on a table near the foyer. Then, he returns to her kiss and an embrace that is so intense; they begin to disrobe one another in the entryway. "You smell so good. You taste even better," he pants in between kisses, his voice barely audible. "So do you," she says in a low and sultry voice, unzipping his jeans and freeing his pent up desire. "I missed you." "Me too," he growls from his throat. Her skin is cool and feels good against his fevered body. They continue kissing as shoes and socks frantically come off without giving up the embrace. As his hands move to the front clasp of her bra, she purrs seductively, "Not just yet." She takes Nick by the hand and leads him to his darkened living room, to a wingback chair, and prompts him to take the seat. As he curiously complies, he reaches over to the lamp near the chair and turns it on to give them some light. "I want to see you," he smiles. "You're so beautiful." He watches in amazement as she teasingly kneels before him, her full breasts spilling out of her lacy, black bra. Her hands slowly explore his taught chest, abdomen, and his thighs. Her touch is amazing. Lulu is concerned, as he is awfully warm. She looks up to find his head lying back against the back of the chair. He watches her every move with awe in his eyes. Her fingertips ignite the nerve endings, and she lightly teases the area around his pelvis. His is fully aroused. She is pleased with his reaction and gently takes him into her hands and then into her soft, warm mouth. "Oh, Lulu," he whispers in the agony of pleasure. Already on the verge, he panics. "I want to take you, right here and now. Please," he pleads, placing his hands on her shoulders. She looks up at him and smiles, "I want to take care of you tonight." And she goes back to making delicious love to him. To his horror and embarrassment, he is unable to maintain his erection and explodes in the excitement. He recognizes this as an undesirable affect of too much blow. Lulu, on the other hand, is quite pleased with his loss of control at her hands. "Lulu, I am so sorry," he whispers. He is hot, breathless, and spent. "I was enjoying you so much. This never happens to me." There is pain in his eyes. It suddenly dawns on her that he is genuinely upset, that his climax was premature. "Nick," she raises her head from his lap and kisses his ripped chest. "You are, without a doubt, the best lover I've ever had. You have nothing to apologize for. The only thing wrong with you is that you're sick. You're burning up with fever." She gently kisses his warm face. "I told you I was coming over to take care of you tonight. Let's go in the kitchen and feed you some of that magic soup and get some Tylenol in you. It will make you feel much better." She walks down the hallway and returns with some clothes. She hands him his shirt and pants. Reassuringly, she says, "You and I have all the time in the world," as she slips on her khakis and blouse. Nick follows her into the kitchen and takes a seat on a bar stool. Lulu goes to the microwave to warm up the soup she brought him from the deli. "Nick? Who is Colin?" She has wanted to ask him this all day. Trying to hide the look of shock of astonishment on his face, he coolly answers, "I have no idea. Why do you ask?" "Because when you dream, you say things. Three times last night, I heard you yell out the name Colin." "That makes no sense. I don't know anyone by that name." "Maybe you do and just can't remember," she suggests. "You said you can't remember anything about the men who attacked you. Maybe one of them is named Colin?" He sits in silence with his fingers pressed against his fevered lips. "You told me the District Attorney's office is getting ready to go to trial with your assault case. Maybe you should go to him with this information." "Go to him with what? We're talking about a dream," he tries to downplay the subject. "Yes, but it's not just a dream. It's a nightmare where you are being attacked over and over again. Every time you have that dream, you are reliving an attack that was so horrible, you can't remember it . . . you're blocking it out." "Is that your `professional' opinion, Ms. Archer?" Nick takes another jab. "No, but it's a reasonable conclusion," she responds in all seriousness. "Especially after observing you yell out the name Colin, not once but three times." There is another, very long silence. "I don't know anyone by that name. And I don't remember yelling out anything." "But I do. I clearly heard you yell out the name Colin. You were terrified, Nick! Look, maybe you don't know anyone with that name. Maybe you heard one of the other men say his name during the attack, and you are remembering it in your dream," she suggests. "You could at least give the D.A. the information. Or better yet, let me do it. I'm the one who heard you say it. If it's nothing, then it is nothing. But maybe, it's relevant. The buzzer from the microwave goes off. "No," he blurts out, trying not to sound harsh. "I'll do it," he lies. "I'll call the D.A. on Monday. And if he needs to speak with you further, I'm sure he will be in touch." Surprised at the suddenness of his change of heart, she asks "Really?" Nick lets out a deep sigh and nods his fevered head. Lulu walks around the kitchen island and puts her arms around Nick, drawing him closer to her. He puts his arms around her waist and holds her tight. She knows how hard this is for him, and she pulls his head close to her breasts and kisses the top of his head. Fallin Associates April 4, 2002 9:30 a.m. Nick Fallin waits in his father's office. They drove in together early this morning to take care of the affidavit. But at about 9 a.m., a series of telephone calls began from the District Attorney's office and a criminal law firm representing one of the accused. It seems the defense lawyer is challenging the idea of an affidavit in lieu of the victim. He wants the victim in Court or all the charges to be dropped. Burton slams down the phone in frustration. "Well, I don't think we have anything to worry about," he comments to Nick, scratching his head. "The defense attorney has to agree to a Daubert hearing so that the Court can approve Dr. Davenport's credentials, anyway. That has to be step number one. He can't refuse your affidavit unless an unfavorable Daubert ruling comes down, and that's not going to happen. Dr. Davenport's credentials are impeccable." "That's good," Nick nods. "When is the Daubert hearing scheduled?" "Tomorrow morning. So, there's nothing more to do until then. What are you going to do today? You look a hell of a lot better than you did Friday." "I know you said you didn't want me back in the office until the doctor releases me, but I'm getting antsy at home," Nick begins. "Jake could use some help on a couple of his cases. I thought maybe I could write some of the briefs from home . . . if that's okay with you?" "You haven't been released to come back to work yet. But as long as you feel up to it, I don't see anything wrong with getting your feet wet," Burton is pleased to hear his son express an interest in returning to work. "Just promise me you will ease back into your schedule. And don't push going back to your community service. It's not worth burning your candles at both ends, again, until you have to." "I promise," Nick says. Picking up some file folders Jake had given to him, Nick says, "I'm going to take a cab home and get working on these. I'll see you later, Dad." Sheila calls a cab for Nick, and he waits for it in the lobby of the Frick Building. The cab ride home is long. Traffic is backed up on the Interstate, so he has a lot of time to think. His weekend was long, too . . . and wild and wonderful. After Lulu shocked him by bringing up Colin on Friday night, he considered asking her to go home. But she was so kind and held true to her word about taking care of him, he was glad she stayed. She let him sleep and sleep. She cooked for him and bathed him and made certain he took his medications on time. She kept his water glass full, day and night. She let him be quiet when he didn't feel like talking. She massaged his aching muscles and snuggled with him at night. But best of all, she satisfied his needs for her at least three times a day, and he happily reciprocated. Although he hasn't been able to stay off the blow, he managed to dramatically decrease his consumption thanks to Lulu's pleasurable distractions. He has enough to last for another day. Then, he must quit. It's only a matter of time before he will have to give another sample to his probation officer. He heads home to do some work on Jake's files. April 5, 2002 Nicholas Fallin's Residence 2:30 p.m. Soul searching has become a regular part of Nick's daily regime. Some days, he doesn't believe he has a soul left to search. Every day, he sets the bar high and inevitably settles, to go so low that he loathes himself. He promised not to call Colin again, but his snow mistress is singing her siren song to him again. And he longs to hear each and every note. As usual, Nick finally gives in to her song and dials the number, only to get Colin's voice mail. "Hi, it's Nick. I'm giving the word." And he quickly clicks off the phone. He has an hour to kill. He distracts himself with a shower and works on his files. Then, he takes a short walk outside to the mailbox only to find his mailbox empty. "Son of a bitch," he says to himself. "He's not as fast the second time." Nick manages to wait for another half hour, only to walk out again and find an empty mailbox. He is beginning to become anxious and dials Colin's number again. And once again, he is connected to Colin's voicemail. "Hi, this is Nick, again. I'm giving you the word. And I await your reply." Almost as soon as he hangs up, Lulu calls. "Nick," she sounds rather irritated. "You promised you would call the DA's office yesterday! Why would you lie to me?" "I didn't lie to you," he replies, thinking on his feet. "I left a message for someone to call me. I haven't yet received a call back," he lies again. "When I didn't hear anything, I called today. And when no one knew what I was talking about, I told them everything," she reports as a matter of fact. "You did what?" Nick can't believe this woman. "The D.A. is going to call you," she forewarns. "Lulu, did you ever consider that this may make things worse?" He nervously runs his hand through hair. "But you have to know the truth, Nick," Lulu is serious. "How are you going to get past this ordeal unless you know the truth? And know that the men who beat you are punished?" April 5, 2002 Burton Fallin's Office 5:30 p.m. Burton Fallin is exhausted. He has spent the better part of two hours arguing with four different parties after finding out that Nicholas will be subpoenaed to testify for the defense at his battery trial. The judge ruled that Dr. Davenport could be in the courtroom in case Nick had any problems on the witness stand. Burton has asked Sheila to place a call to Nick so that he can give him the bad news. She buzzes in when she has him on the line. "Hello, Nicholas," Burton begins. "Look, I might as well just tell you this, but you will be receiving a subpoena to testify for the defense in this assault trial. The judge did not accept the affidavit." "I don't understand?" Nick questions the latest news. "It seems that girl you like, Lulu, told the D.A. that you've been talking in your sleep. Evidently, you've repeatedly mentioned a man's name who is not one of the defendants in this trial," Burton shakes his head. "The District Attorney, of course, wants to re- interview the defendants. And the defense wants to interview you. They believe you might be able show reasonable doubt for their collective clients." "I'm sorry, Nick. I tried to protect you from this," Burton feels terrible. "I have a call in to Dr. Davenport to see if he can be in the courtroom in case we need him." "Don't worry, Dad," Nick begins. "I still can't remember anything. So, I don't know that the defense attorneys think I'm going to say that will help anyone." "Let me know if you need anything, son," Burton sighs. "And let me now when that subpoena shows up. Allegheny Courthouse Criminal Court April 15, 2002 Judge Weaver presiding Lulu Archer quickly exits the courtroom, flashing a saddened glance toward Nick as he is escorted in. She had also been subpoenaed by the prosecution to testify that she phoned the District Attorney to tell him about Nick's recurring nightmares about the assault in question, and that he repeatedly called out the name, Colin, in his sleep. In an effort to keep their case from unraveling, the Defense put Louisa Archer through the ringer, asking her questions in an attempt to discredit her relationship with Nick and her background as a non-mental health professional. None of the defendants would acknowledge they knew Colin, much less that he was involved in the assault of Nicholas Fallin. The Prosecution rests its case and now, it is Nick's turn to be called by the Defense to the witness stand where he is given the Oath to truthfully testify. Dr. Davenport sits back in the second row. Once seated, the questions begin. The self-rehearsed attorney with an uncanny ability to keep his emotions in check was unprepared for his reaction when he laid eyes, face to face, with the five male defendants before him. The horrid sight took his breath away. It took all his strength to keep his involuntary, physical repulsion to these men hidden. During his testimony, he explained to the Defense attorney that he had no memory of the assault. And when asked the same question in five different ways, his answer stood firm. Finally, Andrew Spade, one of the Defense counsel, stands and asks, "Mr. Fallin, does the name Colin Ross mean anything to you?" "No," Nick answers. "Do you know a Louisa Archer?" Mr. Spade continues. "Yes, I work with Ms. Archer at Legal Services," he explains. The counsel continues, "According to Ms. Archer, you are much more than co-workers, isn't that true?" Nick clears his parched throat. "We've recently entered into a personal relationship." "Okay. And that personal relationship would include her sleeping in the same bed with you?" At this point, Nick is sweating and becoming anxious from his withdrawal on the stand. Dr. Davenport makes note of the behavior. "Yes," Nick responds. "Do you know a man by the name of Colin?" Mr. Spade inquires. "No," Nick answers thoughtfully. "That will be all," Mr. Spade announces to the Judge. It was the Prosecution's turn to cross-examine. Judith Farris from the District Attorney's office began. "Mr. Fallin, if Ms. Archer testified that you have recurring nightmares of your beating, and that you repeatedly call out the name, Colin, would be telling the truth?" "She would be mistaken," Nick answers without skipping a beat. "How so?" "I don't remember being beaten," he lied. "I don't know anyone named Colin." "You've never seen any of these men before?" Ms. Farris point to the defendants sitting in the front row. "No," he shakes his head, emphatically, lying again. "And the name, Colin Ross, means nothing to you?" she persists. "No," he shakes his head. "The guard that was on duty has already testified that these men beat you in the holding cell of the County Jail on March 2nd. And you expect us to believe you don't remember?" "I don't remember," Nick testifies. "I sustained a brain injury, and I have no memory of a beating. I only know what I've been told." "What have you been told?" she asks. "Very little," he answers quickly. "I've been told I need to remember everything on my own. I have yet to do so." The prosecuting attorney changes tactics. "You have a history of drug use, don't you, Mr. Fallin?" "I've been told I used to use cocaine," he answers. "You've been told?" she asks. "You mean you don't remember that, either?" "No," Nick shakes his head. "That is really convenient, isn't it?" Ms. Farris huffs. "Colin Ross is felon who has served time for drug dealing and racketeering. His name was has been linked on the street to yours. How would you explain that?" "Objection!" a voice comes from the Defense table. "Your Honor, we have a witness who will testify to this fact," Ms. Farris explains. "Overruled," the judge decides. "Mr. Fallin, I'll repeat the question," Ms. Farris begins. "Colin Ross' name has been linked to yours. How would you explain that?" "I can't," Nick answers without blinking an eye. "I don't know anyone named Colin." After Nick is dismissed from the stand, he leaves the courtroom and is followed by Dr. Davenport. "Mr. Fallin," the doctor calls behind him. Nick turns around. "Are you okay?" Dr. Davenports asks out of concern. "I'm fine," Nick answers, visibly shaken. "After what you've gone through these past several days and in there just now, I don't mind telling you that I believe you are on shaky ground." "I'm fine," he repeats to the doctor. "I have your phone number. I'll call you if I need you." And Nick makes a quick exit out of the building. Once he is outside, his cell phone rings. It is Colin: "We had a deal," Colin snorts through the receiver. "And you broke it. Just couldn't keep your mouth shut." "I don't know what you're talking about," Nick whispers so that no on will overhear him. "Bull shit! You called the DA's office. They've started a new investigation. Things are heating up for me, so it is only fair that things heat up for you." "I didn't call the DA," Nick insists. "Look, I know for a fact that the little bitch you sleep with opened her big freakin' mouth and told the D.A.'s office things she couldn't possibly have known, except from you lover boy. Like I said, our deal is off." "So I guess that means you're cutting me off?" Nick halfway quips. He could really use some of the snow mistress about now. "You don't get it, do you Nicky? You have snorted your last gram. You have screwed your last bitch, and you've told your last lie." Then, Colin says coldly, "You are a dead man!" And the phone abruptly cuts to silence. Once outside the courthouse, Nick hails a cab for home. His mind races a mile a minute, as his anxiety is soon replaced by sheer terror. Colin will make good on his threat; it's only a matter of where and when. As a felony probationer, it is against the law for Nick to be in possession of a firearm. But a firearm is exactly what he needs. "Take me to Mt. Lebanon," Nick instructs the cab driver. The cab driver quickly changes course, and Nick returns to his sketchy thoughts. Nicholas Fallin's Residence Later that evening Nick sits crouched behind the sofa in his living room. Other than a night light off the main hallway, the house is completely dark. He clutches his father's loaded handgun in his hands. After the better part of an hour, the eerie quiet in his home is interrupted by Colin's footsteps outside the front door. These are followed by sounds of the lock and the doorknob rattling. Then, Nick can hear the door open, and Colin walking into the house. Nick's adrenaline is flows freely through his veins. His pupils are the size of tiny pinpoints, and his heart pounds so loudly, he can hear it beating. His breathing increases as his body prepares for "fight or flight." Nick is past being frightened. He is angry. Not once but twice, this son of a bitch ruined his life. It is true Nick may have flaws in his character, but Colin always went way out of the way to make sure Nick's recovery could not possibly remain successful. Nick is sick and tired of being controlled by this bastard; he wants his life back. He now hears Colin walking down the hallway toward the living room, coming closer and closer. Nick steels himself and tightens his grip on the pistol. As Colin takes the step down into the room, his figure over-shadows the little light there is. He is so close, Nick can hear him breathe. In a rush of blinding energy, Nick springs to his feet. Moving in adrenaline-fed slow motion, he aims and fires off a quick shot into the darkness. The blast lights up the room in a flash effect, and the sound is deafening. Then, Nick hears Colin hit the floor with a thud. With the gun still drawn, Nick slowly approaches his downed adversary. He is very still and appears to be dead; Nick hopes he is. As Nick cautiously bends down, he can hear shallow, gurgled breathing. He lightly places his shaken fingers along the neck to see if he can find a pulse. After a moment, he finds a faint one. Aided by the nightlight in the adjacent room, Nick's eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. And as his vision comes into focus, he can not believe what he sees. "Dad? Oh, God . . . no! Please no! Dad!!!!" ~fin~ Author's Note: This is the end of Living The Lie. With this cliff hanger, I've pretty much committed myself to write a sequel to Living Allow.