As he observed the vicinity, he wondered if he were doing the right thing. Alexis and Nikolas had tried to dissuade him from coming, but he refused to listen to them. Stefan reminded himself of why he had to do this. He wanted Helena to know that she was finally defeated. She would never have power over anyone again. He needed that closure.
Stefan had no more time to think, because just then, a guard led his mother to the seat on the other side of the glass. It was a rare sight. Helena was dressed in a simple blue denim jumpsuit. Her hair, always perfectly coiffed, now lay limply on her shoulders. She no longer wore her expensive jewelry, and her nails were ragged.
What Stefan didn't expect, though, was the smile on Helena's face. It was the same sinister, insanely self-assured smile she always had. He choked back his surprise, and his anger. He kept his face neutral, not wanting to show the slightest sign that she could still affect him.
Helena sat down in the gray plastic chair across from her son and picked up the phone. Stefan did the same. "If you have come to gloat, I'm afraid it is not going to make a difference," Helena said with almost a cheerful voice. "I will not be here for long."
"You sound sure of yourself, mother," Stefan said evenly.
Helena laughed. "It may appear that you have the upper hand, but I am always victorious in the end," she said smugly.
"This is quite a change in demeanor since the night of your arrest," Stefan noted. That night, Helena seemed quite defeated when she was taken into custody.
"A rare moment of self-pity. It was quite a strange sensation for me, but I know that you are an expert in that emotion," Helena said.
Stefan just shook his head. He had prepared himself for Helena's insults; he had been dealing with them all his life. However, he wanted his chance to say his peace to his mother, and then never have to deal with her again.
Helena sighed. "Are you just going to sit there silently? This really is a waste of my time. I have much more important things to tend to."
Stefan looked at his mother incredulously for a moment. Then he started to laugh. It was a loud, mocking laugh, which made Helena suspicious. "What is so funny?"
Why did I even bother to come, he thought as he shook his head. "Your delusions, mother. You are going to have unlimited time on your hands, since you will never leave. There is enough evidence against you to sentence you to prison for the rest of your miserable life." Stefan looked at her with new determination. "No amount of manipulations on your part is going to change that."
"This is really getting tiresome, Stefan. Don't you know that I always win?" Helena said calmly.
Stefan stared her straight in the eyes. "Not this time." He moved his chair closer to the glass. "I have come here today to tell you that you have already lost. You have no control over any of us anymore. Nikolas, Alexis and I have started a new family, free from your threats and intimidations."
Helena chuckled. "A kinder, gentler Cassadine family? Color me impressed."
Stefan ignored her comment. "You do not even command one shred of respect from me anymore. I have tried all of my life to understand you, to love you," he said in a softer tone, "but you have done nothing to inspire that devotion." He leaned in closer to the window. "So I have decided to let you go."
"Why, how noble," Helena sneered. "I won't have to see you anymore? You're doing me a favor."
Stefan shook his head. "No, mother, I am finally doing myself a favor. No more trying to stay connected to you out of some misguided sense of family loyalty. No more of your own twisted brand of affection," he said, a bit of his anger finally creeping through. "I came here to demand answers. I wanted to know why you treated me the way you did. But looking at you today, I have lost that desire. I do not need explanations or affirmations from you. I am secure in the knowledge that I am a good person. You will never be able to take that away from me again." Stefan hung up the phone receiver and rose from his chair. He left the room without looking back.
*-*-*-*-*-*
Monica smiled sadly at the sight of her daughter asleep sitting up on one of the hospital waiting room couches. Emily's head drooped to the side, and her long brown hair fell over one part of her face. Monica could tell that Emily was exhausted. The stress of her pregnancy and worry over Sly were written all over her body language, even while she was asleep. She sat next to her on the couch to wait until she woke up.
A few minutes later, Emily's eyes opened slowly. She squinted against the fluorescent lighting. "Oh, hey," she said sleepily when she saw her mother.
"Well, hi there," Monica said softly. "I didn't want to wake you."
Emily pushed on the couch and sat up straighter. "I guess I must have dozed off. I got sick of sitting in Sly's room, especially since he's not there right now."
Monica nodded. "I checked there first." She smoothed back Emily's hair. "You look so tired, Em."
"I'm almost nine months pregnant. Isn't that expected?" Emily yawned.
"I suppose," Monica said. She patted Emily's hand. "I've been doing a lot of thinking about your situation."
Emily sighed. "If you're going to tell me that you want me to leave Sly, Mom, then you can just forget it. I don't want to hear it."
Monica held up a hand. "Hear me out, please."
Emily settled back against the couch, arms folded as best she could across her mid-section.
"I've been reflecting about my behavior over the past few months. I'm afraid that I haven't been very supportive," Monica said seriously.
"Well, I don't know," Emily started, but Monica interrupted her.
"Just let me finish," Monica said. Emily complied, so she continued. "I don't think that I've had a lot of confidence in you during this situation. I haven't had faith in your marriage bond."
Emily just looked quizzically at her mother. Where was she going with this?
"I admit that I haven't been giving Sly a fair chance. I haven't warmed up to him. I haven't even tried," Monica admitted.
Emily couldn't refute that. She had not seen her mother even attempt to get close to Sly.
"I'm not even sure why I've been acting this way, but it's happened before. You know that I certainly did not make any attempt to make Carly feel welcome, and look how that turned out." Monica adjusted a large sapphire ring on her finger. "And I've come to realize that I'm making the same mistakes with Sly. Maybe if he had felt more support from our family, then things would not have come to this."
"Maybe," Emily said softly. "But I'm not sure."
"Still, you must admit that unsupportive in-laws certainly couldn't have helped any." Monica's eyes took on a far-off look. "When I was young, I longed for a family. I would have done anything to belong to someone, to have a mother and father who loved me."
Emily was quiet as she reflected on the stories Monica had told her about growing up in an orphanage.
"And when I married your father, I got that, as warped a family as the Quartermaines can be sometimes," she smiled softly. "Later, I was granted the opportunity to pass on that love to another young girl in search of a family," she said, taking Emily's hand.
Emily smiled a bit, too. The similarities in their situations were never lost on her.
"Now Sly has come into our lives. He has also been seeking a family. He has that with you," Monica said softly, "but he also has us. Alan and I are now as much his parents as Bill and Nancy, but I seemed to forget that. I'm afraid it sometimes takes me a long time to open up to people. I'm not sure why it took so long this time, though. Anyone who loves you so much can't be all that bad."
Emily relaxed a little. It felt good to hear Monica acknowledge that Sly did love her.
"I know that when we're not as accepting of Sly as we could be, it's hard on you, too," Monica said sincerely.
Emily nodded. "It feels like you don't trust me to make my own choices, or to follow my own feelings. Sly and I have made a lot of mistakes, but we do love each other."
"And there's nothing I want more than to see the two of you whole and happy again. It's going to be a struggle, surely, but I believe it can be done. Your father and I can help."
"What are you thinking about?" Emily asked. "You're not going to suggest that we all live in the mansion?"
Monica chuckled. "No, that's not what I was going to say."
Emily sighed in relief. "Good," she smiled. "Then what is your suggestion?"
"I was thinking that one of the things that will make your lives easier after Sly recovers is if he has a job. He has enough to deal with without worrying about how to support you and the baby. One of the Wellness Center volunteers is Debra Butler. She and her husband own Butler's Music Store."
Emily perked up. "The store on Tunxis Avenue?"
"Yes," Monica nodded. "I asked her if they were hiring sales associates. I told her all about Sly's musical abilities, and how good he is with instruments. She said he sounded right for a job there, and she and her husband have agreed to interview him as soon as he's recovered and ready."
Emily's eyes danced. "I'm sure they'll love him," she said. "Oh, thank you, Mom," she said, and she reached over and gave her mother a hug.
Monica hugged her back. "It's the first of many things I plan to do to make amends."
*-*-*-*-*-*
Sly settled back into his hospital bed with a sigh. He had just returned from a session in Gail's office. It went reasonably well, but now his left hand ached from the effort of writing. Two bum hands, he thought. Is it really worth it to keep this vow of silence? He missed the sound of his own voice.
There's got to be a way that I can make this better. He thought back to the previous day. Emily had told him that it would be ok to talk again, that not every conversation they had would explode into a fight. Sly wondered if he was repeating his parents' own tumultuous patterns. They fought more often than they got along until they could no longer stand each other. Would he and Emily end up like that? For his child's sake, Sly hoped not.
There was a soft tap at his door. Sly hoped the person would let himself in without a verbal cue from him. The door slowly opened, and a man poked his head in. He was tall, middle aged with dark brown hair, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.
Sly recognized the man immediately. It was Father Clark, Sly's pastor and the priest who married him and Emily. Sly squirmed on the bed. Now they've sent the God squad after me, he thought. I'm surprised he'd want to see me. Some Christian I am.
"Hello, Sly," Father Clark said. "Is it ok for me to come in?"
Sly nodded. A short visit can't hurt, I suppose, he thought.
Father Clark sat at Sly's bedside, placing a small black case by the chair. "I was surprised to see your name on my patient list. I called your Aunt Jennifer to ask how you were."
Broken, Sly thought dejectedly. I'm broken. He averted his eyes.
"She filled me in a bit about your situation," Father Clark said gravely. "I want you to know, Sly, that I'm here if you need me, as is the whole Church. We want to help, that is, if you let us help you. We can help you find peace again, the peace that only God can provide." He gently touched Sly on the hand.
Sly turned his face abruptly back to him. Make me believe it, he challenged. I want to believe.
Father Clark looked sympathetically at his young parishioner. He knew that Sly was in pain. Unfortunately, Sly wasn't the type to confide too much in him, or in anyone. Sly would make veiled references to family problems, but Father Clark never knew the full story until he had spoken with Sly's aunt. He had counseled many people in spiritual crisis, and Sly's troubles were unfortunately all too common. Father Clark was determined to make a connection today, though. Sly was in desperate need of God's love and mercy, and he wanted to make sure that this young man received it.
"Sly, would you like to receive the sacrament of the anointing of the sick?" Father Clark asked hopefully.
Sly jerked his head back in confusion. Does he know something I don't? I'm not dying, am I?
Father Clark tried to read Sly's reaction. "If you're thinking that the anointing of the sick is the last rites, don't worry. We can receive the anointing as many times as we need it during our lifetimes. The sacrament is intended to provide healing. In it, the entire Church prays for God's blessing on the person who is ill, and asks that Jesus, who suffered himself, will relieve their pain and help them," he explained. "This is totally voluntary. Does it sound like something you would like?"
Sly took a deep breath as he thought it over. God, I don't think I'm worthy of anything good anymore, but You've obviously sent Your priest here for a reason, he thought. Then the words spoken at Mass came back to him. 'Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.' I know I've been horrible about being faithful lately, but I do want to change. You've always been there before, so why am I denying You'll be here now? Sly looked down for a moment more, then he turned back to Father Clark and nodded his head.
Father Clark smiled. "Good. There are many graces in the sacraments." He placed his black case on Sly's rollaway table, and started to take things out. Sly sat up a little bit straighter and adjusted his sheets and his blue pajamas.
Father Clark put a tiny amount of holy water into a small bowl. He dipped his hand into it, and motioned for Sly to do the same. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." Sly felt very awkward blessing himself with his left hand.
"Dear God, thank You for this opportunity to receive Your wonderful sacrament of healing. We remember the words of one of Your servants, Saint James. He said, 'Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven.'"
Next, Father Clark took out a Bible. "I have been praying about your situation, Sly, and you are not the first person to retreat into self-imposed silence. Let us find wisdom from the words of King David," he said softly, and then he looked down and began to read.
"I said, 'I will be careful about what I do and will not let my tongue make me sin; I will not say anything while evil people are near.' I kept quiet, not saying a word, not even about anything good! But my suffering only grew worse, and I was overcome with anxiety. The more I thought, the more troubled I became; I could not keep from asking: 'Lord, how long will I live? When will I die? Tell me how soon my life will end.'"
Sly was stung by the honesty of the words. That's me, all right, he thought.
Father Clark continued. "How short You have made my life! In Your sight my lifetime seems nothing. Indeed every living being is no more than a puff of wind, no more than a shadow. All we do is for nothing; we gather wealth, but don't know who will get it."
It feels that way a lot of the time, God, Sly prayed. Life is much too short, or much too hard. I don't understand Your reasoning. Is there a meaning to all of this pain? His eyes started to well up.
"What, then, can I hope for, Lord? I put my hope in You. Save me from all my sins, and don't let fools make fun of me. I will keep quiet; I will not say a word, for You are the one who made me suffer like this. Don't punish me any more! I am about to die from Your blows. You punish our sins by Your rebukes, and like a moth You destroy what we love. Indeed we are no more than a puff of wind! Hear my prayer, Lord, and listen to my cry; come to my aid when I weep."
A tear ran down Sly's cheek. I am more than willing to accept punishment for what I have done, Lord, but I am so tired of being sick and tired. I need help.
"Like all my ancestors I am only Your guest for a little while. Leave me alone so that I may have some happiness before I go away and am no more."
I would like to be happy, Sly thought. I want to be happy again. He wiped the tear from his cheek.
Father Clark saw that Sly was visibly affected by the Psalm. I hope we're getting through, Lord, he silently prayed.
Next, the priest very gently placed his hands on Sly's head. "We humbly pray that Your healing will come to Sylvester. We know that You healed all the sick that came to You by laying on of hands."
It was a strange sensation for Sly to have someone else's hands like that on his head. He hoped that God's healing was flowing through the priest's hands into his body, and his soul. He tried very hard to concentrate on that thought.
Father Clark removed his hands, and picked up a small jar. He held one hand over it. "Dear God, send the power of your Holy Spirit, the Consoler, into this precious oil. Make this oil a remedy for all who are anointed with it; heal them in body, in soul and in spirit, and deliver them from every affliction," he said in blessing. He then dipped his finger into the oil. He made the sign of the cross on Sly's forehead with the oil while saying, "Through this holy anointing may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit."
Sly shivered a bit as Father Clark anointed his forehead. Love and mercy, he repeated to himself. Love and mercy. Soon, the tears started up again. This time, he felt no shame in someone seeing him cry. This moment was between him and God.
Next, Father Clark anointed the palm of Sly's left hand. He would have done the right as well, but the arm was still bandaged. He made the sign of the cross with the oil while saying, "May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up."
Sly curled his hand a bit and felt the oil in his palm. I will raise you up. I will raise you up. I will raise you up.
Father Clark put the jar of oil away. "Now let us pray as Jesus taught us. Our Father…"
As the priest began the Lord's Prayer, Sly's mind wandered backward. He suddenly remembered holding onto his father while he sobbed. Bill whispered reassurances and very gently rocked him back and forth. Sly buried his head into Bill's chest as he cried. He could still feel his father's strong arms around him, holding him tightly.
Then just as soon as the memory came, it was gone. Sly longed to hold onto it. Don't go, don't go, he thought. The brief moment of closeness with his father had disappeared. His heart felt empty, like an old boarded-up house, abandoned and forgotten.
"Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen," Father Clark finished. Just then, he heard a low, almost guttural cry, and he looked down to Sly.
The sound escaped from Sly's throat as if it had been trapped there for days. The tears flowed freely, and his body shook with sobs. Finally, he parted his lips as the bottled emotions overflowed. "I need my father!" he blurted out. "I need my father!"
Thank you, God, Father Clark prayed at the sound of Sly's voice. He bent down to offer Sly a hug, and he was grateful that he accepted it.
Sly threw his arm around Father Clark, but he could not escape the one thought in his mind. "I need my father," he repeated.
Father Clark just nodded. "Of course you need your father, Sly. We all do."
Psalm 39 taken from the Good News Bible in Today's English Version - Second Edition, Copyright © 1992 by American Bible Society. Used by Permission.
Author's note: I made every effort to get the correct prayers used in the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick, but I was unable to find exact wordings for certain sections, like the opening prayer or the words spoken during the laying on of hands. I wrote my closest approximation of those parts, but other parts were verbatim. Here is a link to an article that I used as a basis: http://www.americancatholic.org/Newsletters/CU/ac0196.asp