Dark of the Moon - Chapter 5
"Did you love my mother?"
Stefan dropped his fork with a loud clatter. "What did you say?" He stared at Zander, who glared back at him.
"You heard me. Did you love my mother, or were you just--" Remembering Stefan's warning, Zander hesitated, then sneered, "Or were you just friends?"
Stefan cleared his throat, then took a sip of wine to buy some time. The evening's meal had been one of the most uncomfortable of his life. He sat at one end of the imposing table while Zander slumped sullenly at the other, barely speaking until he suddenly blurted out his question.
"I'm not sure I'm willing to discuss the matter with you, Alexander--"
"So you didn't love her." Zander looked away. "It figures."
"Your mother and I--"
"Forget I asked."
"Alexander--"
"Hey, it's no biggie. You don't want to talk about it, we won't talk about it."
Another painful silence. Stefan wracked his brain for a less explosive topic. He took another sip of Madeira and remarked, "The wine is excellent, don't you agree?"
Zander shrugged. "That stuff all tastes the same to me. I'd rather have beer."
Stefan choked and was forced to dab his lips with his napkin. He managed to restrain his horror--another lesson for another night, he decided--and tried a different tack.
"Did you finish those calculus equations today?"
Zander shook his head. "Why bother? I'm too stupid to learn that stuff."
"Who told you that?" Stefan asked, surprised.
Zander looked at him with equal confusion. "Everybody."
Stefan sat back in his chair, flabbergasted, then scowled as Zander toyed with his food. "You don't eat enough," he snapped.
Again, Zander looked at him with genuine puzzlement. "Why do you care?"
Stefan ran both hands through his hair in frustration. "Because I'm your father."
"So what? Just because you're my father doesn't mean you give a ****. And if you didn't care about my mother, why should you care about me?"
"I never said," Stefan replied through clenched teeth, "that I didn't care about your mother. I merely--"
"But you didn't love her, right? Right?" Zander's voice rose. "I mean, what did you say when she told you she was pregnant? That she should get rid of me?"
"Your mother never informed me--"
"The hell she didn't!"
Stefan struggled to control his temper. "As I told you on your first night at Wyndemere, I had no knowledge of your existence prior to--"
"I know what you told me, I just don't believe it."
Stefan took a deep breath. "I swear to you, Alexander, your mother never told me she was pregnant. If she had, I would have supported you financially--"
"How? By sending her money for the abortion?"
Stefan stared at him, shocked to the core. "Of course not."
"It's okay," Zander sneered. "You can admit it."
Stefan pressed both hands to his temples, which were starting to throb again. "Is that truly how you think of yourself, Alexander? As a mistake that never should have happened?"
Zander shrugged. "Pretty much."
Stefan closed his eyes. "Go to your room." He heard the scrape of the chair and the slam of the door as Zander left. He was still sitting there when Alexis entered half an hour later.
"Rough night?" She asked sympathetically, rubbing his shoulders.
"You have no idea."
"I think I do. I've dealt with Zander before, I know how trying he can be."
"It's not that." Stefan raised his head and looked blearily at her.
"What is it, then?" Alexis pulled up a chair and sat.
"It's just--he's so different from Nikolas."
"They're different people."
"They might not be so different if…"
"If you'd known?" Alexis shook her head. "Stefan, you can't blame yourself for Olivia's choices and you can't fix her mistakes. You just have to do the best you can."
"And if it's not enough?" Stefan glared at her. "I swear, Alexis, sometimes I think that boy was raised by wolves. He has no education, no manners, no polish. I don't think anyone has taken care of him in his entire life."
"No one has," Alexis shrugged. "Until Emily."
"Emily?" Stefan frowned in confusion.
"Emily Quartermaine."
"What has she to do with this?"
Alexis sighed. "Have some more Madeira, m'dear. I'm about to tell you a very long story."
***
Later that night, Stefan restlessly prowled the darkened halls of Wyndemere. Sleep was harder to come by these days. Helena had made no move against Alexander, a fact Stefan found worrisome rather than comforting. He knew she was biding her time, wearing him down with waiting, hoping he would lose his nerve or drop his guard
Well, that would never happen, Stefan reassured himself. Helena could wait as long as she wanted; when she struck, he would be ready.
He nodded to the guard outside the family wing, and the man nodded back curtly. (The staff was used to his midnight prowling and knew to look alert when he passed by.) Stefan paced silently along the richly carpeted hallways and paused to draw back the velvet drapes on the window.
Far below, the black waters of the lake sparkled faintly. Closer to shore, streaks of light stretched along the harbor--the lights of Port Charles reflected on the surface. He could hear the booming drone of the lighthouse alarm as it warned of incoming fog. He should double the guards, Stefan thought. Fog would provide the perfect cover for Helena's men to approach the island.
Stefan sighed, dropped the curtain, and turned away from the window. The truth was, thoughts of Helena were merely a distraction for other concerns. He had been deeply troubled by Alexis' account of Zander's life; he had known the bare facts, but police reports and hospital records were of little use in gleaning the human heart. Again he wondered if he could have made a difference in his sons life if he'd known--shown him some kindness, some concern, anything to counteract Olivia's distance and Cameron's hate.
Stefan shook his head. No, Olivia had made the right choice. Helena would have killed Alexander, or used him in one of her twisted and ruthless plots. Better for him to endure the life he'd been given than to be exposed to the poisonous Cassadine influence.
Stefan paused outside of Zander's room. Light spilled from beneath the door. Impulsively, he knocked, then turned the handle and entered.
Zander lay asleep, stretched out on the bed fully clothed, a book open on his chest. Stefan peered at it and winced at the title: Crime and Punishment.
As if sensing his presence, Zander stirred in his sleep. The book slipped off his chest and Stefan deftly caught it before it hit the floor, then set it quietly on the nightstand. Zander frowned and muttered, and Stefan was struck, not for the first time, by his resemblance to Olivia. The thick sable hair, the dark sweep of eyelashes, sensitive lips, stubborn chin. And his eyes, so intense--pleading and vulnerable one minute, angry the next.
Stefan sighed. His instinct was to pull the boy's shoes off and cover him with a blanket, but he knew Zander well enough by now to realize he would be furious. Reluctantly, he left the light burning and walked away, closing the door quietly behind him. Another time, perhaps.
***
Wyndemere, April 2003
The next few weeks passed in relative peace and quiet. The tension level in the house dropped considerably with Nikolas and Gia gone, and there were some days when the odd assortment of people living in it almost seemed like a real family. Alexis and Zander's bond grew tighter, and Zander and Kristina adored each other. He walked the floor for hours with her when she was colicky and claimed he was the only one who could soothe her.
"I'm her mother," Alexis said testily to him one night, trying to make herself heard over Kristina's heart-wrenching wails. "I know what I'm doing."
"Oh, please," Zander said. "You're just making her more anxious. Come here, baby," he said soothingly as he took Kristina. "Let Uncle Zander make it all better." Kristina hiccupped and laid her weary head on his shoulder and was fast asleep in seconds. Zander gave Alexis a smug look, and she rolled her eyes. Watching them, Stefan felt that familiar envy tugging at him.
He also felt Gia's absence far more than he wished to. Nikolas called from Paris almost daily to update Stefan on his business dealings, but there was no reason for him to put Gia on the phone, nor did Stefan think it prudent for him to ask to speak to her. It didn't help that there were traces of her all over the house. Stefan swore her perfume lingered in the air, and she seemed to have left a trail of fashion magazines featuring her image wherever she went.
Stefan found one such magazine lying provocatively open on a library table. The advertisement was for a new fragrance called Afterglow. In the photo spread, Gia lay naked on rumpled sheets, wrapped only in a black mink coat, her legs open slightly and her head thrown back in abandon. Her eyes were languorously closed and her parted lips appeared bruised from kissing.
This was unacceptable, Stefan decided. He would have to speak to Nikolas. Gia had agreed to give up modeling after the wedding, but it was clear the family needed to put a stop to it immediately. Such a shocking display could only sully the Cassadine name. She looked…she looked…delicious, his mind whispered, but he promptly shoved that thought aside. She looked decadent, he decided. Shameless. Wanton.
"Do you have any idea how pathetic you look?" Zander asked, and Stefan jumped. He hadn't even noticed him slouched in corner reading.
Stefan tried to pry the magazine from his sweaty palms. "I have no idea what you mean."
"A grown man haring after his nephew's wife."
Stefan tried for hauteur. "My relationship with Gia is none of your affair--none of your concern," he amended, wincing at his choice of words.
Zander gave him a withering look. "Whatever. Just do us all a favor and don't get her pregnant." He turned back to his book, leaving Stefan with the odd feeling that he'd just been dismissed.
During those weeks, winter finally surrendered and spring came to the island with a flourish. Zander spent more and more time at the stables. Nikolas had purchased a magnificent coal-black stallion, named Solomon, as a mate for Sheba, but his attempts to ride him had been a failure. Solomon was vicious brute and tolerated no one--until Zander. One touch, one word from him was enough to calm the beast. Instead of stamping and tossing his mane, he'd approaching Zander like an eager puppy and nuzzle his pockets for carrots.
"Needs a good run, that one," Sasha the head groom told Stefan one day. "Needs to stretch his legs a bit. And I'm not just talking about the horse." He nodded at Zander, who was riding Solomon in a gentle canter around the yard.
"Hmmm," Stefan replied, but he knew Sasha was right. Alexis nagged him every day to give Zander more freedom. Even Mrs. Lansbury had timidly broached the subject that very morning.
"That young man has lost ten pounds since he joined this household, Sir," she said, trying to control the quaver in her voice. "Cook is quite displeased."
Stefan peered coldly at her over the tops of his glasses. "Your point, Mrs. Lansbury?"
Mrs. Lansbury bravely stuck her chin in the air. If Stefan hadn't known her better, he might have sworn she was angry with him. "My point, Sir, is that some fresh air and sunshine would do him a world of good. And he's not the only one." Then she turned on her heel and left the room, almost but not quite slamming the door behind her.
Stefan sighed. He knew when he was outnumbered. And every Cassadine knew the value of strategic retreat.
That night at dinner he gave Zander permission to ride Solomon around the island. "Provided," he added, one finger in the air commanding silence, "you are accompanied at all times by two armed guards and provided you maintain a sensible pace." He frowned at Zander, waiting for the inevitable argument.
"Okay," Zander said.
Stefan blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"Sure," Zander shrugged. "That's cool with me."
"Very well, then," Stefan said.
Zander grinned at Alexis, who winked back at him. Annoyed, Stefan suspected she'd been secretly coaching him in strategic retreat.
From then on, Zander rode Solomon daily. He'd return looking refreshed and alive and--almost--happy. He spent hours in the barn grooming Solomon and talking gently to him, or swearing at him in Russian when he was obstinate. Stefan almost dropped his cell phone once when he heard a particularly blue stream of curse words emanating from the stall.
"I never taught you that," he told Zander sternly.
Zander winked. "Alexis did." Then he went back to grooming Solomon.
But nothing good lasts forever, particularly in the Cassadine family. One week in late April it rained for four days straight. Without his daily ride, Zander became edgy and restless again and prowled the halls of Wyndemere like an angry ghost. Stefan suspected he wasn't sleeping well--more than once he heard Zander pacing the floor in his room late at night--but his concern was met with icy disdain and rudeness. Finally, at midnight on the fourth day, Stefan knocked on Zander's door. When there was no answer, he opened the door and peered inside.
Zander's room was messier than usual. The bed was unmade, and books and clothes lay scattered across the floor. Something caught Stefan's eye, and he stepped inside. Taped to the mirror were two photographs; one showed Zander and Emily Quartermaine, the other, a very young Zander and a dark-haired boy who also bore a striking resemblance to Olivia
"Peter," Stefan whispered. His concern grew, but he told himself not to panic. There was no way Zander could get out of the house without the guards raising the alarm, so he must still be inside. He was probably raiding the kitchen, as he was wont to do late at night, despite Mrs. Lansbury's protests.
Trying not to hurry, Stefan checked the kitchen, but it was empty and dark. Maybe Zander was in the stables…but no, it was still raining heavily outside. The library, then.
Sure enough, Stefan found Zander in the library, sprawled on one of the couches with a book open on his chest--The Brothers Karamazov this time--twitching and muttering in his sleep. His skin was sheathed in sweat. As Stefan approached, his face tensed, and his limbs thrashed.
"No, Pete," he whispered. "Pete, look out. Don't…"
Alarmed, Stefan reached for him. "Alexander. Alexander, wake up."
"Pete…oh, my God, don't! Pete!"
"Alexander, wake up." Stefan lightly touched his shoulder.
"No!" Zander woke with a scream and was halfway across the room before Stefan could catch him. His chest heaved and his eyes were wild with fear. Stefan held out his hands and spoke soothingly.
"Alexander, it's all right. You were dreaming. You had a nightmare."
Zander stared around him, confused and terrified.
"You're at Wyndemere, remember?" Stefan said. "You fell asleep. You were reading, you fell asleep, you had a nightmare."
Zander's breath slowed, and he passed a shaking hand over his face, then through his hair.
"Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to bother you."
"You didn't," Stefan said. Gently he picked the book up off the floor and laid it on a table. "But I think that's enough Russian literature for one night."
Zander laughed slightly and wiped his face on his shirttail. His hands were still shaking, Stefan noted.
"What did you dream?" he asked.
"I don't remember."
"You cried your brother's name," Stefan said quietly
Zander looked at him, and his eyes went dark.
"Were you dreaming about his death?"
Zander shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. "I guess. It happens sometimes. It's no big deal." He looked sideways at Stefan. "I guess you know what happened that day. How I shot him."
Stefan hesitated. "Your father…Dr. Lewis told me."
Zander laughed sourly. "Yeah, it's his favorite story."
Stefan could see Zander quickly rebuilding his defenses, and ached for him. He wanted to tell him the truth--that Helena had killed his brother-but remembered Cameron's warning. How much of the truth could Zander handle? Especially when it contradicted his own, albeit false, memories? Yet surely, on some level, his mind knew. Stefan suspected he'd dreamed that day exactly how it really happened, then forgot it immediately upon awakening--part of Cameron's programming, no doubt.
He realized with a start that Zander was still watching him, and he spoke hastily. "Your brother sounds like a remarkable person."
"Yeah," Zander said sardonically. "Too bad I killed him, right?"
"That's not what I meant--"
"Whatever. I'm out of here." He turned and left the library.
"Alexander, wait!" Stefan followed, but Zander was faster. He went up the stairs to the family wing, entered his room, and locked the door behind him. When Stefan knocked, he yelled, "Go away!"
"Very well. But we will discuss this in the morning." He jumped back in alarm as something heavy crashed against the other side of the door.
"I said go away!"
Stefan sighed and stepped away from the door. Shaking his head, he slowly paced down the hall to his own suite. Tomorrow he would discuss the situation with Alexis, and they would decide what to do. Maybe it was time Zander learned the full truth about his deadly heritage
***
At dawn the next morning, Stefan awoke to the gentle touch of sunlight on his face. The rain had finally ceased, he realized, and breathed a sigh of relief, burrowing further under the covers in uncharacteristic indulgence. He heard the faint thunder of hoof beats--a single rider--and smiled. Nikolas, he thought sleepily, out for his morning ride. At breakfast the'd discuss business and current events, with Gia laughing saucily at them and calling them pompous bores. Then--
Gia. With Nikolas. In Paris. Not at Wyndemere. Then who…
"Alexander!" Within thirty seconds, Stefan was up, dressed, and bellowing for the guards. Sergei came running as Stefan hurried down the main staircase.
"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know how he got out--"
"I don't care how he got out! Just bring him back!"
"I already sent two guards after him--"
"Sir!" It was Dmitri, running in from the opposite direction. "Sir, its Darius. He's dead. At the west gate."
"Security's been breeched," Stefan said to Sergei. "Mobilize everyone, now. And find my son!" he added as Sergei scurried off.
"Stefan, what's going on?" It was Alexis, holding Kristina in her arms.
"Alexis, take Kristina to your suite immediately and lock the door."
"Stefan"
"Someone got in," he told her.
"Helena." Alexis clutched Kristina to her. "Oh, my God."
"Take Kristina. Lock the door. Don't open it to anyone but me." He turned and ran down the stairs.
"Stefan," she called after him. "She'll kill Zander."
"Not if I find him first," Stefan answered grimly.
Outside, Sergei and another guard, armed with high-powered rifles, immediately assumed protective positions around Stefan. Sergei's radio crackled, and he listened intently for a moment.
"They just spotted him," he told Stefan in Russian. "Near the cliff."
Stefan took off running, and Sergei had a hard time keeping up with him. The air was still cool and heavy with morning fog, the grass wet with dew, and the birdsong deceptively calming. It was a spring morning to cherish, but Stefan felt his heart clutched in fear's icy grip. As he rounded the garden, he saw a lone figure on horseback by the cliff, black hair gilded in morning light. He felt a surge of relief and fury--he didn't know if he wanted to hug Zander or hit him. Or both.
"Sir!" Sergei clutched his arm and pointed. Stefan saw a figure emerge from the trees, his weapon glinting in the sunlight as he raised it.
"Alexander!" he screamed, but he knew in his heart he was too late.
To be continued…
