Repercussions

William stood holding the revolver as his father struggled to his feet leaning heavily against the wall to lessen the weight on his body and slow the blood loss. The look in his father's eyes was exactly what he had hoped for when he dreamt of this moment. Terror and confusion. It would lead perfectly into the speech he had planned as his last salvo in ridding himself of the father who dumped him after birth.


"Who ever you are I won't call the police. Just take whatever you want. I don't have much that I didn't spend on booze and even that's gone now."


"From what I hear, that's no surprise. So did you fix yourself a drink fresh off your liver donation? Looking to waste anything tied to a son. That sounds like you." William took a couple of steps into the room and stepped to the sink. He found a pile of empty bottles turned upside down and no glass anywhere in the room to indicate the booze had gone to any good use that day. "What is this pile in the sink? Is this some kind of joke from your neighbors? Get rid of his booze while he's in the hospital in hopes of forcing you to stop killing yourself. I do have a similar goal to stop you from killing yourself and save that for me."
From the floor, Andrew struggled to one knee and faced his attacker. He instantly saw his same nose without the broken capillaries from years of drinking. He also recognized his wife's eyes. "William? Is it really you?"
William nodded a dramatic affirmation bowing at the same time. He hadn't planned out how long the identification game would play out, but the faster his father knew who he was, the less time the police would have to get there and stop him from his plan. "Very good. I'd thought you might have forgotten me after so many years. I know I had not forgotten you once I learned I was adopted and who you were as a human being, if you can call it that."
"I understand why you felt the need to do this. I deserve this and I'm truly sorry." Andrew stopped to cough as his breathing became labored. "If you do let me die here, please at least tell Jackson that I did intend to make good of his gift and that I owe you both the world for what I've done."

The last words spoken, Andrew Porter passed out on his kitchen floor. William could see he had done the damage he intended though he hadn't killed his father yet. His chest struggled to rise and fall, but it was still there. His estranged father lie on the floor at his feet near death and the only thing he wonder was why am I crying?

As he stood over his father, the phone rang. William picked it up with a hello and was greeted by a cheerful male voice.

"Andrew Porter? This is Aaron's Searchers with some quick and good news."

William placed the phone in the crook of his neck and went to the sink to wipe down his gun with a wet wash cloth. "How do you mean? What is this about?"

"You called us about 15 minutes ago, sir. About your son...uhhh...William. We spoke to St. Mary's and they gave us the information freely. They seemed excited to hear that a biological parent would change his mind and want to meet the child he abandoned. Anyways, we found him already and can give you all of the information including some additional background information on how he's doing and where he is today in our meeting Wednesday. I just wanted to tell you the good news and congratulate you personally."

William slammed the phone down as he stared at his father's collapsed body. What is happening to this family?

A Noticeable Change

Andrew Porter didn't wake up Friday morning. At least not the Andrew Porter he had been Thursday night in the hospital. He had begun to sense a kind of change of perspective come over him, but he would not have expected it to last as it had. He found himself feeling a similar regret from every day past over the loss of his wife and indiscretions of leaving his two sons to be raised by others. However, this Friday morning he had the sensation of a man that wanted to try and do something about his past.


Andrew had spent nearly two decades hating himself and successfully driving his health and life into the ground summarily. He knew he had made some peace towards his son, Jackson, but needed to do more. Jackson was easy to find. His big challenge would be his other son, William. He had made no effort to keep tabs on the adoption process and the whereabouts of his youngest son. His past efforts to contact him was limited to the raising of bottle to glass and glass to lips until the feeling passed. Today, however, he would not let that stop him.


Andrew reached for the phone book and called the first private investigator he found listed. With the phone wedged against his ear by his shoulder, he reached to his familiar stash of bottle as the phone rang. He unscrewed the cap to the gin, took one final sniff at the scent of herb and alcohol and proceeded to dump the bottle's contents down the sink as a voice on the other end of the line picked up.


"Aaron's Searchers. This is Aaron. How can I help you?"


"Hello, I'm a terrible father looking to right my life and I need help trying to find my son who I gave up to adoption roughly 18 years ago. What can I do to find him?" He reached upwards and found the 100 proof bottle of Southern Comfort and brought it to the counter. The sink was already disgusting with mildew before he dumped the gin. He would have to begin cleaning to help make the metaphorical clean up of his life. Plus it was gross.

"Alright. Would you like to schedule a time to stop in and give some information about your son? We have an opening this Wednesday in the morning."
"Is there any way to start this process now? I'm unnaturally focused right now and I really do not want to lose that. My son's name is William. It should have been William Porter, but I gave him up at birth when my wife died. He went to St. Mary's home for displaced youths. I never tried to find him so I don't know how soon they placed him. He should be 18 now." Andrew twists the cap off of the bottle of 12 year old scotch and poured it down the sink without a second thought.
"I'll tell you what I can do, sir. I've got the next hour free and will start looking into it, but we should still have a meeting setup for next week to discuss what I might find in the mean time and help bridge any gaps so we can avoid any false positives. How does that sound, Mr. Porter?"
"That sounds good to me. My number is 859-213-5591. Give me a call as soon as you find something." Andrew shook the last of the scotch from the bottom of the bottle and tossed it in the sink with the other bottles. He smiled at the site knowing he had seen similar in the past, but those had put him in the hospital and this time might keep him out for good.
He hung the phone back on the wall and walked to the cookie jar next to the microwave on the counter. He reached in and pulled out the gallon bag of airline flight sized bottles of booze and pitched the entire bag into the trash. He had saved these for occasions when he was forced to socialize and didn't want to go sober. He hoped he would not have those feelings anymore.
Andrew had spent over a decade in his small home and had only met his neighbors when he first bought the house. His first meeting was enough belligerence and Johnny Walker to prevent many further discussions. The only other occasions where when he drove his car up on some other neighbor's lawn coming home from the bar. A few times, he made a killing selling liquor at double the price to the minors in the neighborhood.
As if a thought returned to him on the neighborhood minors, Andrew began digging back into the trash to dump each of the small bottles out before pitching them. He did not want to enable anyone else anymore. With his left hand deep in the trash can, Andrew heard the screen door swing open and closed. A voice behind him called him by name asking him to confirm he was Andrew Porter.
Andrew confirmed his name still digging for the bag in the trash. As he pulled the bag from the can, a searing pain struck in his right shoulder. The gunshot sent him ached back and staggering backwards into the hutch with a fresh hole in his shoulder just high enough to hurt like hell but not low enough to have struck anything major.

Brotherly love

"What are you talking about William?" Jackson's eyes widened as he pondered William's intentions. "He's changed since the surgery, William. He's not the same man that abandoned us both to fend for ourselves growing up." Jackson pleaded his case to William, but the long lost brother's eyes showed it was a futile gesture.


"Us? My abandonment goes well beyond yours. He gave you up to our grandparents. He gave me up to total strangers. I spent the first 12 years of my life assuming I was just the black sheep of a 5 child family, but I eventually learned enough math and biology to realize my 6 month age difference from the closest sibling wasn't likely to mean I was a delayed development twin. I didn't hang out in the womb for an extra six months and I don't have the physical deficiencies of a baby born after 6 months at most in my mother's womb. That's when I started asking questions that they avoided like I was asking about the tooth fairy or Santa Claus." William thrust his arms into the air in a sign of frustration nearly knocking the lamp off of the table.


"I was waved off like I was some brainless idiot. Like I was one of their other children. Those brainless clods that love to sing together in the car on family trips and willingly pass clothing from sibling to sibling like each ratty pair of pants was a family heirloom!" William began flailing dramatically, but Jackson was beginning to lose sight. His stitches has opened up more than he thought and he was bleeding freely on to the bed now.
"But he's still our father..." Jackson's strength was waining now and William appeared unconcerned about his brother's well being.



"Listen, Jackson. I don't hold any ill will towards you for how I grew up. You were trying to make your life into something that would not reflect any connection to our father and I truly respect that, but I can't imagine any situation on any planet where you wouldn't gladly allow that man to leave this life. That's why I'm here. I didn't want to do this without at least talking to you. I don't want you to feel you gave up part of your liver for nothing, so let me say this." William reaches into his pocket and pulls a small hand gun holding it down at his side.


"You've given me my father back so I can be the one to finish the job. Thank you, brother. It's the best gift you could have given me." Jackson passed out as William placed the gun back in his pocket. He stopped at the nurse's station on the way out and watched them scramble as he told them he thought his brother was going bleed to death. He waited for the floor to clear before he walked downstairs to his car.

The visitor

Jackson rolled onto his side trying to ease the pain from his stitches. He had been awake for an hour after his father left and could only listen to the footsteps and pages as he waited to heal enough to leave. As he rolled onto his back again for the twelfth time, he heard footsteps at the door that sounded like they entered.



"I thought you were just going to call in and check on me, Dad." Jackson smiled at his repeated fall into an affectionate tone towards his father today.


"Why would you want to save that drunken jackass?" The voice from the door seemed familiar, but Jackson couldn't place it. The man in the doorway was about 18 years old and had familiar look in his eyes. Something about the eyes disturbed Jackson. They were like his and his mother's, but something dead seemed to be behind them. "I see that brain of yours working, Jackson. Let me help you place me. I'm the only man Andrew Porter wanted less to do with than you."


Jackson took a breath as the image of his mother and father appeared on both sides of the stranger's face. He began picking out features from each until they combined to make the man in the doorway. "William?"



"Impressive. I wasn't certain if you even knew about me. From my understanding, I was pretty much forgotten about at birth. Oh, that looks painful." William pointed to a thin line of blood coming through Jackson's hospital gown. His stitches must have opened some during his shifting. He would have to page the nurse for fresh bandages.

"So you actually did give up a piece of your liver for the old man. That's heroic really. Stupid, but, in some way, heroic. I applaud your efforts, but hosing down a bathroom doesn't mean it's going to start growing flower, brother. You should have let him die. That what we both are really waiting for, the sweet release of death. His death in particular. So where is the old bastard anyways. Save his life and he still leaves you, huh? That's cold."

Jackson shifted up and reached for the nurse's pager before William jumped over and swatted it away out of Jackson's reach. "Let's not interrupt this family affair quite yet. I don't want anyone to know I'm hear including him."

Jackson grunted as he slid back down on his bed. He stared at William fascinated by how much they looked alike and yet how differently they must view the world. "He won't know you're here. He's no longer with us."

William's eye finally perked up. "Did he not make it? Oh, that is fantastic. I mean, it sucks for you to have gone through this and put yourself in such pain during this most joyous moment. When you get out, I'm going to take you out for some champagne. You'll have to buy, of course, but I'll split the cost with you. D-day. Death day. I didn't think it would be this sweet."

"He's not dead." Jackson witnessed the return of the darkness behind his brother's eyes. He did not feel comfortable even knowing William had not threatened him in any way. He had merely slapped the call button away. "He went home feeling great. He's actually putting the place together for me to come see him again. He would likely welcome you too. We could tell him."

William snorts as he reprimands his brother for the confusion. "Don't get me wrong, Jackson. Seeing you has been nice, but I came for one family event today and that appears to not be happening here. One way or another, I'm going to watch that man die."

Rapid Recovery

The surgery had gone well, Jackson was told when he awoke from the anesthesia. He felt some cramping in his abdomen when he tried to sit up. The doctor told him to lie still for a few hours until they brought lunch to help save his strength. He reached down to rub the pain from his stomach and his finger rubbed the humped section of flesh where the doctors had opened and closed when removing a small section of his liver.


Jackson turned his head to the left toward the empty bed next to his. "Where is my father? I thought he was going to be placed in the same room as I was."



The doctor scanned his monitors as if distracted. He was unwilling to answer the specific question asked. "Your father came through just fine, Mr. Porter. He is resting."


"Why isn't he in this room?" The concern on Jackson's face forced the doctor to admit the truth to his patient.


"Jackson. Your father woke up about an hour ago. He was in the bed next to yours, but nearly ripped the tubes from his arms trying to get out of his bed. He demanded that he be moved to a...uhh...different room."


"A different room? What's wrong with this one?" As if answering his own question, Jackson grunted to himself as he looked at the empty bed again. "So he didn't want to be in the same room with me, right? That does sound like the father I've grown to know. Silly of me to think that would have somehow changed after I help him out. I guess I just thought he would have at least been weak enough to get over his distaste for me."


Jackson shrugged and reached for the remote control and flipped on the late late show until he slipped back off to sleep. He was greeted 7 hours later by a knock on his door. He was certain he must have only half woken from his dream, because his father was standing in the doorway fully dressed as if he had just been visiting another patient.

"Sleep well?" He seemed less grumpy than usual, but he had been on morphine the night before and that likely still soothed his temper.

"As a matter of fact, I did. I tossed at first knowing my father was begrudged to bail on the room with his son before I awoke last night. Then I realized that I had done something nice regardless of how it turned out. Kind of an un-Andrew Porter thing to do and I slept like a baby." Jackson took a deep breath as he felt a pull in his stitches that forced him to calm down.

"I agree. It was a very un-Andrew Porter thing to do as you point out. Thank you."

Jackson's first response was shock at the kind words before he also noticed the smile on his father's face seemed genuine. He had grown up assuming his father was born with a facial tick that forced him to scowl at all times. "What are you on and how come you're dressed already?"

Andrew's smile did not fade. "Strangest thing happened this morning when I woke up in my own room. I began to feel bad. Not physically bad, but emotional really. For the first time in a long time, my first regret had nothing to do with your mother. I had abandoned you as a child and then, after your most generous efforts, abandoned you to your hospital bed. That did not make me feel comfortable at all in my room, so I walked down and saw you were sleeping soundly."

Andrew leaned against the doorway showing no signs of fatigue or sickness from a major surgery. "The nurses yelled at me until I apologized for the way I had been treating them earlier. They had their doubt and made a face like...well, much the same as your right now. Disbelief would be the proper term. So I went back to my room and realized that I, actually, felt great. I haven't felt this alive in decades. I couldn't tell if it was the drugs or what, but I sat for another hour and it didn't fade, so I popped the IV out and waited another hour, but I just kept getting happier and more calm."

"You pulled out your IV?!?" Jackson looked at his father's arms expecting to see blood running down his hand from a hasty removal, but he looked healthy.

"Don't worry, I'm perfectly fine. The spot where the IV was only bled for a bit and healed up. I feel great and it's thanks to you. I know you are still sore physically and not ready to go, but I wanted to head home while I still feel so terrific and put my place in order."

Jackson looked suspiciously at his father. "Why?

"To have you over of course. I've been given a second shot and I'm not going to waste it. It's almost as if I feel warmth coming from my stomach, but I know it's not my stomach. It's the part of you given to me. It's like I've been invaded and couldn't be happier. You stay here and rest while I head home to clean up. I'll call to check in on you in a few hours. Sleep well."

Before he could say another word, he heard his father's footsteps fading away down the hallway. Jackson smiled in relief that his journey had been so worthwhile before drifting back to sleep for the last time in his hospital bed.

A reunion of sorts

Jackson pulled his rental car into the Saint Joseph's campus parking garage and put the SUV into park. He sat listening to the end of the current song on the radio at first. Near the end of the song, he turned the radio and engine off and continued to sit and stare out of the windshield at the concrete pillar in front of him. Having spent his life in an effort to specifically not be his father in the hope that it might prevent the world from having one more of Andrew Porter in it, he was now about to risk his health to make sure the original bastard did not leave the same world.


He tried to imagine the argument that good requires evil to prove good exists, but it was the prayer he said before opening the door that helped him the most. He closed his eyes and asked for the strength to get through the day without falling victim to his father's wrath once again. He asked for the understanding he had fought to maintain all of those years when his father dove into the depression left to him upon his mother's passing. The guilt over her death was on his head despite how circumstantial her death was so many years ago.


He closed his eyes and nodded his head towards the steering wheel as if in agreement that he should continue his efforts. The sound of the car locks echoed through the garage as he walked towards the elevator. The doors closed behind him and reopened on the 3rd floor of the hospital. He asked for Dr. at the nurse's station and introduced himself as Jackson Porter. The nurses all rolled their eyes indicating they knew full well who he was here to see. "Sorry."
Walking down the hall, Jackson sees a nurse rush from a room into the hallway followed by a cafeteria tray. He can hear his father bellowing 100 feet away.
"I'm already dying! Are you trying to kill me with this food?!? Get me a drink and let me end this on my terms!" Andrew's voice cuts off with a grunt as he sees his son walk in to the room. "Have you come to watch me die? Your grandparents already sent me a 'Are you dead yet?' card and flower basket. Considerate, really, seeing as I forced your worthless behind on them for years. If you want to start drinking heavily now and be like the old man, you're welcome to it. Hell has no fire marshall spouting capacities."
Jackson had not expected so much hatred and nearly left the room when he heard his father mumble, "like father like son." Jackson turned with a look of surprise in his eyes. He was honestly surprised and his father became curious.
"What the hell are you looking at?" His father slurred the middle section of the sentence out of habit.
"Redemption." The one word seemed to answer any doubts in Jackson's head and he began to walk out of the room with a purpose.
"Wait! Where the hell are you going? Do you think I'm going to apologize on my death bed to you?" He spat wildly with rage. Jackson turned and witnessed the spectacle just as a wad flew past him hitting the light switch.
"This is very rewarding, surprisingly. I'm going to go down to the nurse's station now and ask to speak to you doctor. I'm going to have him come in here with some morphine for you."
"Finally. The prodigal son returns to send the old man off. That's the nicest thing you've ever done fro me. Much better than that crappy tie you sent me on Father's Day about 10 years ago. Although it did make for a handy rag while I was changing the oil." Andrew smirked at his clever strike, but Jackson remained unfazed.
"That's not what I mean. I'm going to have him knock you out so you can't refuse the liver I'm about to donate to you. I will get to save my father's life despite the hellish childhood I suffered through and you torturous visits. I'm being rewarded with a selfless act from a selfish man Ironic really.""
Jackson walked out of the room to a spew of vulgarity and did as he promised. The doctor gave Jackson a blood test to make sure he was a match and scheduled a surgery that night so as not to waste any time. The doctor clearly meant he did not want Andrew Porter in his hospital any longer than necessary, but Jackson preferred the altruistic image.
Two hours later, Jackson was prepped for surgery and lay on a table with the round lights blinding him from counting the number of medical professionals in the room. He had an IV from his left arm passing up above his head and could hear movements from behind him.
"Now breathe deeply and try to relax. Count backwards from 100 and we'll begin when you're out." Jackson felt the fluid enter his veins and tried to concentrate on something else. He began counting backwards from 100. He usually stumbles around 79 to 78 for some reason, but he never made it that far before the deep sleep hit.

And the award goes to...

The screen flickered as the tape kicked on in the VCR. The screen remained blank for a moment before a lens cap is removed and the image focuses. A filtered voice came over the speaker in a deep and threatening tone.

"You may have noticed one of your group is now missing. If you don't know which once, it's clear this won't be as difficult of a job as we had intended. Yes, I said we. Totally more than just me in this operation." The voice changes slightly as the man speaking makes his voice higher pitch. "We will do horrible things to your friend if you do not listen to us now and obey our demands."

The lower voice returns, "Yes, horrible things. Let us show you our power. Behold, Jack Swanson!" The camera zooms to a man strapped to a lounge chair with the words Bellagio on it. Behold, your friend is in grave peril...wait." The camera zooms back to the darkness and the voices argue.

"I told you to put a towel over the chair!" The lower voice scolds.

"Oh, please, that camcorder is so old, the resolution can't even make out the word Bellagi..." The higher pitch voice cuts off for a moment. "Bell Lodge and Camping Resort. Yes, I accidentally just said that it was Bell Lodge and Camping resort. But which Bell Lodge you may never know!"

The lower voice grumbles. "Just put the damn towel down."

The camera pans quickly to Jack again as the person recording has walked past accidentally turning the camera with a full view of Jack and Chaz Parson walking towards him. "Lean up." The lower voice says to the blindfolded Jack.

"Yeah, lean forward or we'll do terrible things and your friends will watch." The high pitch voice coming from Chaz says to Jack after Chaz jumps to his other side first.

Jack leans forward as Chaz places a towel that obviously has Bellagio written on it in larger letters than the chair. Turning back to the camera, Chaz freezes realizing he is now within full view of the camera.

"OH...Oh my God! I've escaped my binding ties! I will over power you...both of you and get away." The camera watches as Chaz runs towards the camera and tips it to the ground. The voices can be heard, one at a time, yelling that they did not intend to hurt him before a bang like a crushed soda can is heard.

Chaz is heard groaning in pain. "I'm..dieing. And dead..." A loud breath is heard in the camera and the lens is turned to show a pair of legs as if to imply Chaz is now dead. The camera obviously is being held by the legs' owner.

"That is what happens when you mess with us. This is what you get...when you meeeess with us!" The lower voice starts, the higher voice takes over midway signing the second part.

"Is that Radiohead?" Jack is struggling to shake down the blindfold, but it is too tight.

"No. Shut up! You try holding a kidnapping and managing a decent bad guy dialogue, ass!" The higher voice has taken over now and sounds much closer to Chaz's real voice. "Now your fiends shall feel our wrath. We demand you let Chaz Parson stay with you in the suite that we witnessed the black jack pit boss comp you or..." The camera turns again and a high pitched scraping sound is heard.

When the camera is turned back, a large oscillating fan is seen in front of Jack. "Take these orders and obey or I...we. r we shall turn this fan on your friend Jack who we know has acute sinus problems and will suffer stuffiness and runniness without relief. CHOOSE!" The lower voice comes back in to finish out the threat.

"How did you know I had sinus problems?" Jack turns his head listening more closely to the tone and familiarity of the voice now that Chaz's name has been brought up.

"We know all!" Silence takes over the tape as Jack sits quietly placing the sounds.

"Chaz, you idiot! Untie me or I will brain you into next week and make you bet on the Falcons on Sunday!" Jack's voice turns far more frightening than any faceless voice before him.

"No." Chaz's voice is clearly heard with no effort to disguise it. He walks into the camera frame and flips on the fan. The wind speed picks up and Jack's hair is visibly tossed about as he begins to sniff.

"I will snot on your dead corpse if you do not let me out right now!" Jack's rage is picking up. He feels he has control of the situation. His lines are directly aimed at Chaz as he shakes his head further and the blindfold slips from one eye.

"Good luck with that, pal. I'd hate to know what you'd do to my live corpse. See you at breakfast tomorrow." The camera turns away and returns to static. Chaz sits beaming on the witness stand as the defense attorney walks to the witness stand.

"So that is when the defendant rolled off the chair and kicked the fan to the floor?" Peter Jenson straightened his tie attempting to look studious in his first year of law school. He needed to portray himself as dashing and compose or he would be ripped to shreds by the plaintiff.

"Yes. I mean, I assume so. I wasn't there. Those guys sounded menacing. I see Jack got out alright though." Chaz beamed to the defense's table where Jack sat with his arm in a sling.

"Alright? Do you call having a 200 lb circulating fan designed for the pools at the Bellagio tipping on him as he rolled away and breaking his arm alright? He's suing you for damages in the ball park of $3000 for his medical bills and and additional $5000 for the extra nights he had to stay in Vegas and miss work nearly costing him his job. What do you have to say to that?"

"Jealous." Chaz's only word stood in the courtroom untouched for a moment until the lawyer took the bait.

"'Jealous? What are you talking about?" His composure is faltering, but he does not feel it shows.

"Yes. He's just jealous that his payback turned on him and Joey Harrington was on fire that Sunday I made roughly $10,000 on that bet. Thanks, sucker."

Jack leaped to his feet, but the judge banged his gavel quickly and returned order to the room. "This is an obvious case of friends doing stupid things to each other that eventually gets someone hurt. I'm dismissing this case and feel these two men will work things out on their own. Beatings and all. Next case!"

Chaz leaned towards the judge and whispered something in his ear sending the judge into a fit of eye rolling. "What did he say!" Jack was standing again and obviously fuming.

"He asked what I thought of the cinematography. Feel free to beat the hell out of him right on the stand. I'm taking a ten minute recess and a nap."