The Fragments Left to Her
By Christa
The light shining off her ring held the infant spellbound, his blue-grey eyes tracking the motion of her hand. When they began this ruse, she had abandoned all her finery except for the single diamond glittering on her hand and the gold band her husband placed there decades earlier. They would remain there until the day she died, a reminder of her vows and her duty. That she had kept hers when he had not was a source of pride and regret. But she would continue to keep them, even if the path of duty led to this run-down and isolated estate halfway around the world from her home.
The child in her arms continued to stare at her finger, with eyes that seemed to drift in and out of focus. Such a small thing, but it distracted him handily from his distress over his mother's absence, and so she continued to rock him, hoping his nursemaid would recover soon. It had been years since she had held a baby in her arms.
His eyelids began to droop, worn out by his earlier cries.
"I wonder what is keeping your mother, little one."
As if summoned by her words, one of her servants appeared, out of breath and clearly distressed. He made his report in a breathless voice that showed signs of his exertions.
"We found small footprints near the rose garden at the back of the yard. She may be lost in the woods."
She let out an impatient sigh. "That silly girl. Does she know how easy it is to get lost in the woods? She could be hurt."
"We can continue the search until dark. But with so few people..."
"She hasn't fully recovered from the birth."
"The doctor said she'll tire easily," he replied hopefully. "But if she becomes injured or tears her stitches, there's a risk of infection."
Her frown deepened. As if sensing her distress, the baby began to fuss, and she eased back into the slow rocking that had calmed him before.
"And to think," she murmured softly, in a tone intended to caress and soothe. "I had almost decided to allow her to live."
"We'll do our best, Madame." He hesitated for a moment, then squared his shoulders and made his final confession. "Andrei said he searched the study where the nursemaid was found. The documents with the test results you ordered were missing."
Helena Cassadine's lips curved back into a slow, satisfied smile. "Well, then. Dead or alive, she should serve her purpose. Call off the search. She's of no further use to me."
Still holding the child, she gave the necessary orders. Pack up the estate. Make the arrangements to move to the cottage she'd prepared last month in case their pursuers drew near. Monitor communications in the local town on the off chance a woman who was a month away from a difficult childbirth had recovered more than she let on. It was possible. For her own part, she doubted the woman was clever enough to pull it off. She operated on pure, mindless instinct. It wouldn't be the first time she'd dashed from the frying pan to the fire. Helena hoped she burned.
"You're better off without her, little one," she told the child, nestled peacefully against her breast. "Her death would spare you from a lifetime of disappointment."
The infant continued to slumber, oblivious to her musings, seemingly at peace. Back in the dim reaches of her memory, an image of Stavros surfaced, along with a sharp pang of grief. But instead of banishing the scene with a flick of her iron will, she allowed it to linger... remembering the dark tufts of fine hair, the softness of his skin against her own, and the sense of completion when she held him, knowing she had fulfilled her ultimate duty, cemented her position in the family indelibly.
But parenting was an art, not a science. And never having had parents of her own, she was forced to experiment, with only the knowledge gleaned from the example of the few family retainers to guide her. They were hardly an ideal model, rewarded for their loyalty by being left behind in a war-ravaged country with the expendable daughter, not spirited away with the son and heir. Her governesses arrived in her life later, when her brother decided to gamble on her promise of beauty to improve the family fortunes. They had trained her, educated her, but never tried to mother her, nor would she have accepted it if they had.
And so she devoted herself unstintingly to her first-born son, with the grudging approval of her husband and his family. Until the day he was taken from her care and given over to his tutors and her husband, leaving an ache in her heart that never healed despite the ravages of time. Her second child showed none of the promise of the first. The more she tried to mold him in his brother's image, the more he turned away from her, and then there was nothing between them but a vague sense of duty. Until the day he had betrayed her beloved son and the family, revealing himself as the viper he'd become.
Her eyes hardened as they always did when she considered what Stefan's folly had wrought. She blamed him in part for her grandson's ruin. True, he had protected him and cared for him under her ruse, hopelessly devoted to the child he believed was his. But she dared not trust him with the truth. A man who would goad his brother in his pursuit of his lover, hoping her husband would kill him and leave the field to him, could not be trusted not to transfer his animosity and jealousy of his brother to his nephew. So she had been forced to allow Stefan to guard him while she labored to bring the one person who could save him back to life. She had trusted Stavros to intervene, break Stefan's hold and guide the boy back to them.
Now both her sons were dead, by Luke Spencer's hand. She had contemplated killing him, but the more she considered the matter, the more she was convinced the true blame lay with Laura Weber. She was the spider that had ensnared all the men trapped in her web. So she had removed her, and taken satisfaction that the pain she caused Luke by doing so was more intense than even the slow, lingering death she'd first contemplated for him.
Even in that half-living state, Laura still cast her poisonous shadow over her grandson. The boy had always been a fool for blondes. She blamed his mother for them all... Katherine Bell, the Weber girl that turned his head so many years ago (never would she have allowed another Weber into their family), and finally the worst of the lot, Courtney Matthews Quartermaine Morgan Jacks. That Nikolas could have fallen for such a pale shadow of a woman horrified her. That he thought she'd permit him such a folly amazed her further.
She knew he wouldn't believe her, but she had truly hoped it would never come to this. That she wouldn't have had to lure the silly girl away from the few friends and family left to her. Wouldn't have had to see her bound and gagged, gently, ever so gently. As long as there was a glimmer of a chance the child might be a Cassadine, she would be gentle. As gentle as the little fool deserved.
And even as she gave the orders to remove the broken glass from cottage, replace the battered wooden chair the child had used to fight off her abductors and watched as her servants removed the limp body from the room, part of her still shrank back from the necessity of it all.
Not out of squeamishness or nerves. Nikolas called her heartless, but could never see the truth she longed for him to see. She was no mindless criminal, tormenting others for the sheer pleasure of seeing their pain. He would never understand her childhood was devoured by a lifetime's worth of pain and torment. As war raged through Greece, bringing with it starvation, famine, and death, each day brought with it another example of what humans would do to each other, when pushed to their very limits. Only the strong survived. She was one of the strong. And she would never apologize for protecting her family with every means at her disposal, even if it meant kidnapping and murder. They were her trust. From the moment Mikkos put the ring on her finger, she became a Cassadine, a living link in a legacy that stretched back centuries. With her husband's passing, she became the guardian of his legacy. Mikkos had dreamed wildly, extravagantly, and perhaps foolishly. But she preferred his grandiose dreams to the petty ones which preyed on her grandson's mind. No thoughts of world domination for him. He was content with an empire the size of one small town, not even a town. A pitiful little island, not worthy of the name. A small outcropping of rocks surrounded by water. It was there he chose to wall himself off from the world his grandfather had longed to conquer.
Nikolas was her great regret and torment. His choices were enough to make her weep, had her tears not run dry decades ago. First the insipid Quartermaine girl, looking for her fairy tale prince, all wrapped up in a bow. The image was appealing to the boy, with her cast in the role of wicked queen. So be it. She would endure his wrath in order to save him from her grasping ways and the dull mediocrity of the life she would have demanded he live. He had a destiny; all she wanted was for him to rise up towards it, as she knew he could.
And then, when she had imagined he could not disappoint her further, he sank even lower. This one was a nightmare; her only saving grace that she might have weaned him away from his unnatural devotion to his wife's every whim. But when he started to talk of forever, swearing his undying devotion to the woman even before the ink was dry on the divorce papers, she knew it had fallen to her to act. Then came the news of the child, and the path was clear.
"I'll fix it for him," she told the sleeping child. "If it's the last thing I do."
Two years later
His capture, when it came, was depressingly easy. The two large men who had "escorted" him to her villa stood at attention on either side of him as he stared at her defiantly. They hadn't considered it necessary to bind him, and she searched in vain for any signs of a struggle. No cut lips, scrapes or bruises. The thought that it was arrogance that prompted him to forswear a brawl was scant consolation. Arrogant, he was, as her husband and sons before him. But they had earned their arrogance. Still too impetuous, she thought regretfully, as his lip curled into a sneer.
"You're not going to get away with this."
"How cliché, dear boy," she returned evenly. "Rather brave words considering you were so foolish as to fall into my hands. Or is this part of a cunning plan?"
"Finding you and my son is my plan."
The knowledge that at least one part of her plan was proceeding as desired was comforting. The boy had been diligent in his search, if slower than she'd expected. And foolish in his choice of accomplices. With all the wealth at his disposal, to rely primarily on his brother and his ex-wife's paramour was the height of idiocy. Freshly irritation prompted one regal brow to rise slightly in challenge. "And how is your plan progressing?"
"Where is he?"
She pursed her lips at his impatience. Mindless, unthinking impatience. Even Stefan, her great failure, had a better grasp of tactics and guile. "Did you even consider the advantages of stealth?"
Nikolas blew out his breath. "I didn't plan to set foot on the island just yet, but it seemed so easy."
"And that wasn't warning enough for you?" she demanded acidly.
The roar of a plane's engine cut through the tableau and Nikolas' smirk returned.
"My pilot thought it was safe enough. He's on his way back to the mainland now."
The casual way he volunteered the information told her that any pain and loss suffered through the years had not brought with them any accompanying wisdom. She closed her eyes to mask her despair. Nikolas took the gesture for a sign of defeat.
"Give me my son and I might consider letting you live."
Rather than answer she led him out to the veranda, the guards trailing behind them. The sky was a clear blue that reminded her of her days in Greece. But instead of the rocky outcrops and terraces of olive trees, the color palette was far more vivid. Tropical palms, orchids in all shades of color, looking exotic and alien to her eyes, grew wild in the damp heat.
The plane was visible in the sky as it climbed higher and farther away from the island. She could feel his gaze darting towards her, but she ignored him, wondering if he realized the pilot was not heading in the direction of the mainland. Probably not, she thought dispiritedly. His uneasiness grew as she remained silent, but he had the wit not to demand answers. Perhaps he refused to give her the satisfaction.
The plane was too far away for the sound from the explosion to reach them, but the trail of fire was clearly visible as was the dizzying descent, as the heap of burning metal corkscrewed into the ocean She saw him flinch.
"How did you...?" He demanded harshly, then took a breath, smoothing his face back into a sullen mask.
She waited. The answers were within his grasp, if he had the sense to look for them. She counted off the seconds, each one an agony. Finally he spoke.
"It was his idea to land," Nikolas said flatly. "You paid him to lure me here. And now you've killed him to cover your tracks."
"If he would betray you for money, dear boy, he would not hesitate to betray me in time. There is only one possible response to treachery."
Again she waited, hoping he had absorbed the lesson, but he brushed it aside, as he did all her attempts to teach him.
"How does it feel to work for a monster?" he asked one of the guards at his side. "And how long do you think you'll live when she decides she's through with you?"
It was a pitiful attempt, and she shook her head. "Darling, they know they have nothing to fear. As long as they're loyal. Which they are," she added, allowing her gaze to roam over the men pointedly. They understood her power, even if her grandson did not.
"Now what?"
"Now we discuss your future."
Nikolas shrugged, almost bored. "I know what you're going to say. You're going to mold me into the perfect Cassadine prince. Well, it's not going to work. I'm never going to be your prince."
She could tell he expected her to argue with him, cajole him, convince him of the necessity for cooperation, perhaps even dangle his son in front of his nose. "Very well," she said calmly and began to walk away.
"You're not fooling me you know," he called out, following her inside the villa. "After all the trouble you went to in order to capture me, I know you have something planned. I'm not a fool."
"That's precisely what you are." Helena returned icily. "You took two years to track me down, despite all the clues I left strewn across your path. It should have taken you six months at the most. Then you hire a pilot to take you out to this island without even considering the possibility you could be betrayed. If I didn't know without a doubt my son's blood flows through your veins, I would wonder if Laura played us all for fools with some common goatherd."
Nikolas' face tightened with anger. "Leave my mother out of this."
"Does she know she's a grandmother?" Helena asked with silken malice. "Or is she still lost in her madness like your paramour? You should have the institution give you a discount."
"You're the one that drove them mad. And Courtney will recover as soon as bring our son back to her."
"Perhaps you should have chosen a woman capable of dealing with setbacks without turning into a raving loon."
"I'll make you pay for what you did to both of them."
The threat sounded so hollow she would have laughed if not for her despair. "You're not in a position to make threats, Nikolas. But I am."
She allowed him time to consider her words, but saw no glimmers of understanding. Again, the regret that infused her voice was real, though he would never see it as such. "I had hoped that would could come to some sort of accommodation to raise your son together, but I see that would be pointless."
"He'd be better off raised by wolves," he said scornfully.
If he were smarter, so many stratagems would be open to him. Feigned acquiescence, for one, swearing he would do her bidding for the sake of the child he loved. Or a bargain, holding out the lure of an advantageous marriage to someone worthy to tempt her and buy himself time. Anything but this blind scorn. "You seem to have forgotten that you are no longer the sole heir to the Cassadine Empire."
"He's barely two years old."
"And I will not fail him the way I did you."
"You can't keep us prisoner forever."
"I won't have to. Nature will do it for me."
Finally she saw a hint of caution in his tone. But it was too late. "Grandmother, what are you planning for us?"
"There is no us, Nikolas. The boy and I have another engagement. You will remain on a nearby island, forced to fend for yourself. If, by some miracle, you survive and can free yourself, you will have earned your freedom."
Shock held him immobile as it began to dawn on him that she was not bluffing. "You're abandoning me?"
"You wanted nothing to do with me or our family," Helena returned coolly. "I'm simply granting you your wish. You won't see me again unless you find a way off that rock."
"I don't understand," he said, with the bewilderment of a child.
"The guards will leave you with a week's supply of water and food," she continued briskly. "That will give you time to learn to forage for yourself. There aren't any large predators on the island anymore, or so I've been told. I imagine you'll discover the truth soon enough."
"You don't expect me to survive, do you?" His face was a study in disbelief. "Why don't you just kill me if you want me dead?"
"I have never sought your death, but I refuse to watch you continue living this pathetic excuse for a life. Death in pursuit of your son, while regrettable, would leave you a shred of honor. And your son's birth has made you rather more... expendable."
His eyes widened and he took a step back, the first time she'd seen him show fear. Perhaps he had always known she was dangerous, but he never felt himself in danger from her. Which was as she'd wanted it. She had thought her heart hardened to the task, but deep within something cried out at the loss. All those times she'd tried to show him how much she loved him, tried to explain she only wanted what was best for him. Now she'd shocked him into silence. There were no orders to leave his loved ones alone, no more threats. For a moment, she wavered.
A commotion from the other side of the veranda distracted them both. She heard the shriek, the quick footsteps and held her breath, unable to prevent what she knew was coming.
A tiny boy toddled onto the deck, followed closely by his nursemaid, her pale face turned red by the heat and exertion, a close match to her strawberry blond hair. The boy started to come towards her, then came to a halt at the sight of the stranger at her side.
Nikolas stared at him, transfixed.
"He has his mother's eyes."
His choked whisper made the decision plain. There was no other choice. Stefan's taint was still there.
She watched unflinchingly as her guards wrestled him into the boat, walked slowly back to the villa with his screams ringing in her ears. The nursemaid was waiting for her in the dining room, stammering apologies. She ignored her and went to directly to the nursery. The boy was sitting on the floor, remarkably calm, trying to stuff a wooden block in his mouth.
"Pack his things," she ordered the girl. "It's time."
"Yes, Madame." She hesitated briefly. "Would you like me to take him with me?"
"Leave him," she ordered curtly. "We have little time left together, after all," she added more softly as the girl exited the room.
The boy looked up at her quizzically, his sandy hair and bright blue-green eyes proclaiming his parentage to anyone with the gift to see.
She sighed, suddenly feeling every one of her years bearing down on her.
"You're of no use to me anymore, child. And I have had very little luck raising boys."
The child couldn't have understood her response, but he toddled over to the corner where a brightly colored ball lay and crowed his delight.
She sat down wearily in the rocking chair. It was her greatest gamble yet. But she had come to the conclusion Nikolas would never become the man she knew he could be as long as he imagined himself protected by his status as the prince. For all he scorned it, the knowledge was still there. And it held him back, for reasons she had yet to fathom. The only solution she had devised was taking from him everything he valued, while keeping a hostage in reserve. The boy he believed to be his son would do nicely for that purpose. And having seen the child, the connection would be that much stronger. She would do her best to destroy him, in order to save him, and hope he could survive. Time was running out for him, after all. She would not live forever, and once she was gone, the wolves she held at bay would begin to circle. Unless he was strong enough to rule the pack, they would destroy him.
She closed her eyes, the vision of his face swimming before, contorted with rage as he screamed the threat ripped from his soul. I will make you pay if it is the last thing I do. She hoped desperately that he would.
Caracas, Venezuela
"I believe all your paperwork is in order."
The couple in the office exchanged a triumphant smile, unaware of their audience observing the proceedings with the aid of a few discretely placed cameras.
"Senor, your assistant has been rather vague about the details of the child's history," the man said with studied casualness.
"We have rules about confidentiality which prevents us from releasing certain information. I'm sure you understand, sir."
The man reached into his coat and withdrew a wad of bills under his companion's disapproving stare. "I understand rules, Senor. But there are exceptions which can be made, by a man of your stature."
A hand darted out and the bills disappeared. "I only know certain details."
"Whatever you can share with us would be appreciated," the woman said in a husky voice. "For the child's sake."
With a show of reluctance all three of them understood to be false, the man relented. "Well, he's a bright boy. Sad family history. The mother was young and immature, if you take my meaning. She didn't even know which of her lovers had fathered the child," he added with an expressive shrug.
"And her family?"
"Her brother kicked her out of his house when he discovered her pregnancy. She was a schemer, trying to use the child to trap a wealthy man into marriage. But eventually her family saw she couldn't be trusted to care for the child. She abandoned him, and they approached me, knowing I have arranged matters for others."
"And she won't change her mind?" the woman asked intently.
"I can promise you she will never trouble you. The boy needs a family, and he already seems quite fond of your wife."
The couple exchanged a look of silent communication, then their features relaxed.
"As long as they understand once he becomes part of our family, he remains with us," the man added. The words were deceptively mild, but the man behind the desk hastened to assure him with fawning words that had as much to do with the man's reputation as the size of the fee he stood to earn.
A woman came into the room where the older woman and boy waited, gazing the monitor. "It's time."
Helena turned to the child at her side, her hand tightening briefly on his shoulder. It was the best solution for all concerned, she told herself as he walked out of the room and out of her life. She did not have the strength to survive another failure, another turn as the wicked queen.
She watched on the screen as he beheld her belated christening gift, his lips turning up in a tentative smile at the sight of the woman. She held out her arms to him, and he went to her willingly. She would give him a mother stronger than the one who bore him, and hope she could erase the taint of his blood. She would give him to a woman as fiercely devoted as she was skilled in the art of manipulation and guile. And she would give him a father, tender with his family, yet sufficiently ruthless to protect him and hold him. The poisoned spindle she saved for Courtney Matthews Quatermaine Morgan Jacks would-be Cassadine, and only hoped she would live long enough to see her face when she told her who had raised her child.
"And what shall I put as his name?
The parents exchanged another telling look. A faint indulgent smile played about the man's face as he nodded to his wife, leaving the final decision to her.
She cradled the child in her lap tenderly, running a hand gently across his cheek.
"Alonzo Chandler Alcazar."
Christa with comments or questions
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