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"NO SON OF MINE"

by "Nickette"

This is part two of a trilogy that started with "Let The Truth Be Known".
Please note that there is strong content in this story and IS NOT for everyone! You've been forewarned.

The key to my survival was never in much doubt,

Things were never easy for me, peace of mind was hard to find,

And I needed a place where I could hide, somewhere I could call mine.

I couldn't stand to hear the crying of my mother, and I remember when

I swore that, that would be the last they'd see of me, and I never went home again.

In and out of hiding places, soon I'd have to face the facts;

Wed have to sit down and talk it over, and that would mean going back.

He sat me down to talk to me, he looked me straight in the eye,

"But I came here for help; I came here for you."

-- Tony Banks/Phil Collins/Mike Rutherford

"I'm glad that's over with," Rachel exclaimed with a sigh as she plopped herself onto the couch in the Parlor. Things had been so strained between Nick and Derek all throughout the case they had just finished. All during it, Alex kept excusing Nick's behavior by stating that she thought he was still not completely healed from the injuries he had sustained a month ago during Jonathan Boyle's attack. But Rachel felt that the injury Nick was still feeling was the mental rather than the physical one. She watched as the young man solemnly sat across from her, facing the fireplace instead of his friends. She rose and walked over to him, kneeling beside the chair. "You okay?" she asked as quietly and compassionately as she could.

He turned his head towards her and Rachel could immediately tell that he wasn't. He looked back into the fire before him and stated simply, "I'm fine; I'm just glad it's over with, too." Nick was never one for a lot of words ... not unless he truly felt passionate about a subject, but Rachel felt a real unease settle through her at how distant the ex-SEAL was becoming -- to her, Alex, Philip, Derek ... especially Derek ... and even to Kat. She rose and left the young man to his thoughts.

Crossing back to the couch, she noticed Derek's questioning look. She shrugged her shoulders in answer to the unspoken question; she knew how concerned the Precept was for his youngest associate, but she also knew that he was staying very ... uncommunicative ... about the events that had happened. Every time Rachel tried to approach the subject of Jonathan's accusations, Derek would change the subject. "You need to talk about what happened Derek," she had told him time and time again this past month. "Both you and Nick need to talk about it!" But the Dutchman had refused and the situation had become more and more strained.

"I don't know exactly where I'm going," Nick answered, a bit calmer, but still sounding quite agitated. "I'm just going out ... and, if I wanted 'company', I would've asked you to come along." With that, he passed by Philip and left the House, slamming the door behind him.

Philip sat in the place vacated by his younger "chosen" brother, and looked at Derek, concern crossing his face. "He's not handlin' this verra well, Derek," he stated the obvious. "He's closin' himself off from all of us more an' more ever'day. I really think you ought t'talk t'him about what happened."

Derek looked at Philip, staring with a scowl that was unnecessary for the conversation taking place -- so like Nick a few moments ago ... over-reacting to an innocent situation. "And what should I say to him, Philip?" Derek questioned. "Tell 'im that what happened didn't happen?! Assure him that that bastard really is his father and that he should get over that fact?! Exactly what would you have me say to him?!"

Before Philip could respond, Derek himself rose and headed to the sanctity of his office. Once there, he realized that he had indeed behaved just like Nick -- or was it Nick behaving just like him?! -- and felt even angrier and more confused. 'How am I suppose to help Nick get over Jonathan's accusations when I can't get over them myself?!' Derek wondered to himself. 'Gott, Jonathan really is destroying us after all.'

Nick had started down the path he normally ran down, but had neither the strength nor the ambition to run right now. He finally returned to the garden area and sat with his head between his knees, trying to clear out all the thoughts that were raging through his troubled mind. 'Why? Why won't Derek just talk to me about what happened?!' he wondered. 'Does he think I actually believed any of that bullshit?!' But, even as he thought these thoughts, he realized that ... at least a part of him ... did believe the accusations! And that was the worst feeling of all!

He thought back about the conversation he had overheard the other evening. Derek and Rachel had been in the Library, finishing some research on the case they were working on. Nick had decided that it was time to talk to Derek -- to get everything out in the open. Looking in at the two people sitting at the table and the fact that Derek was drinking ... quite quickly in Nick's opinion! ... caused him to pause. As he stopped just outside the doorway, he heard Derek exclaim to Rachel, "What're you asking me? If it's possible that Nick could be my son?!" The sound of Derek's voice -- outraged and incensed -- stopped Nick in his tracks.

Suddenly the answer came to the ex-SEAL ... he had to get out of here! He had to go to Boston and see his Mother. He knew that she was in a coma and might not be able to give him any answers right now, but he couldn't just continue to work day-by-day, side-by-side with Derek anymore without learning the truth. It was obvious to Nick that Derek wouldn't (or couldn't?) discuss the matter with him. And, even if Derek did talk to him about it, Nick now knew how the Precept felt -- he didn't want Nick to be his son!

Standing against the banister of the stairs, Nick was lost in thought, wondering how to bring the matter up to Derek and the others. He didn't hear Kat as she quietly approached him coming down the stairs and was startled when she jumped on his back. He stood up, letting her slide to the floor. He turned and snapped, "What the Hell did you think you were doing?!"

The others had heard Nick's voice and walked out into the hallway to see what was the matter. They arrived just as Kat was rounding the top of the stairs. "What happened?!" demanded Rachel, as she started to follow her daughter. "What'd you do?!"

"I offered, but I'm afraid I'm too late. He doesn't trust himself now ... not after yelling at Kat like that ... and so he believes he has to leave -- for his sake as well as ours!" Derek sat, wishing he could go back a few days; wishing he would have taken the time to talk to Nick about what Jonathan had said. Now, he knew that it was too late.

"Well, 'kill birds' on your own time," Nick snapped, "not on mine. I'm going to Boston, but I'm going ALONE! I don't need a babysitter and I don't much feel like yours -- or anyone else's! -- company, so I think you better plan your own trip to Beantown for 'Church business' another time, Friend!"

Nick softened as he placed his bags on the ground and put his hands on Philip's arms. "Look, I know you want to help, Philip; but this is something that I really need to do on my own. I really appreciated your faith back there in the hospital ... and your standing up for me in the Library when my old man appeared ... but I really need to do this alone, Philip." He picked up his bags as he passed his friend in the hallway. He half-turned and said, over his shoulder, "Sorry." With that, Nick left the San Francisco House, bound for Boston ... and the truth!

Derek had watched Nick pack his few meager bags into the trunk of his Mustang and then watched him drive away. Shortly afterward, he sat alone in his office with his thoughts -- remembering how the House used to be when William, Jonathan, Art, Miranda ... all of them ... when they had all been friends and associates; remembering how happy he was to have Jonathan's son working with him ... particularly after seeing how useful Nick was! ... and remembering the look on Nick's face when Jonathan had made his accusation regarding Nick's parentage!

I just got off the phone with Arthur Peterson. I told him that I believe Nick is heading his way to discuss the accusations Jonathan had made. But, Arthur wasn't surprised; he said that he had "been waiting for the Kid to show up."

I hope that Arthur can handle him; Gott knows that I've never been able too! I just hope that Arthur will be able to help him -- to give Nick the answers he needs so that he'll come home.

Arthur assured me he would let me know if and when he heard from Nick. I just hope my hunch about Nick going to Texas is right. I really hope Arthur can handle the situation and that Nick will come home soon. I know that every time I look at Nick now, I wonder ...... I know that Nick is wondering too. I pray to God this will end soon ... for both our sakes!

I keep wondering what I'm doing. I guess, deep down, a part of me wishes Jonathan Boyle wasn't my father. But another part of me can't believe anyone else could be, either. I tried to put it out of my mind while we were working on our last case, but I can't. Every time I look at Derek, it's there. Sometimes I feel like he's wondering too!

I'm hoping that Art Peterson will have some answers for me. Maybe he'll know something that he couldn't bring himself to share in front of the others. I remember that my Mom used to talk to him a lot when I was little, and I remember her saying that she could always trust and depend on him. So .....

I guess maybe I'll find the truth in Texas. At least, I hope so!

However, when Art opened the door, Nick realized that -- somehow -- Art knew he was coming. He walked in, took the offered drink and a seat opposite the large Texan and then said, "Look, you've probably guessed why I'm here. I'm looking for answers ... about what my old ... about what was said back in San Francisco."

"I pretty much figured that's why yer here," Arthur admitted. "I just don't know how much help I can be t'ya. Me and yer Momma ... well, we were real good friends back in the ol' days. And yeah, believe it or not, she even went out with this ol' cowboy once or twice on a date. But, it just wasn't meant t'be. We both knew it on our second date and decided t'remain real good friends." He saw the look of disappointment on Nick's face and continued, "I know that this isn't much information ... and maybe not whatcha were hopin' t'hear, Partner, but it's the truth. I surely wished I was yer Daddy ... Lord knows, I could've done a Helluva better job than ol' Jonny did at takin' care o'ya ... but the plain truth o'the matter is, yer Momma and I were just friends. Nothin' ever happened between us."

"I get your meaning," Nick said, disgusted with himself for wishing to hear more. He took another swallow of his drink and then asked, "You were there during that time, though -- what do you think is the truth?"

Arthur also took another sip from his drink. This was going to be the harder part ... because he just wasn't sure how to answer the kid. He took one more swallow and then slowly replied, "Well, I don't know what t'think, Nick ... t'be perfectly honest with ya. I mean, I remember Jonny back before he and yer Momma got married. He was a good man, Nick -- a real good man! It's just so hard t'believe that he turned into such a monster!! I guess the truth o'the matter is, I imagine it would've taken somethin' pretty dramatic t'change ol' Jonny's heart an' make him capable o'such brutality. But ...."

"So you think it could be true?" Nick interrupted. "That someone else from the House slept with my Mother?"

"No," Derek answered quietly. "I appreciate you calling me and letting me know what happened." He paused and then inquired, "How did he ... seem ... to you when he left? Was he alright?"

"He hasn't been alright since Jonny first showed up, Derek," stated Art. "An' he's not gonna be alright until he gets some answers. The blasted irony of the situation is that Jonny is probably his ol' man and he's just puttin' his Son through Hell as usual!! If I had only known what that bastard'd been doin' t'his family ...."

"I know," Derek finished. "I know! But the main thing now is ... how to reach Nick."

Art took another sip of his drink and then stated the obvious to his one-time friend, "Well, I think the only way anyone's gonna reach 'im is by tellin' him the truth." He paused, and then added, "Which ya should've done by now, Derek."

Derek was silent for nearly a full minute before replying, "I know, Art ... I know!" With that, the Dutchman hung up the phone and turned to his remaining associates. Concern and worry was written on each of their faces as he stated, "Nick is headed to Boston."

"Not yet," Derek answered solemnly. "But I am going to call William and tell him what's happened." Derek left the others, as he went into his office to place the call.

Nick headed straight to Boston Mercy Hospital after picking up his rental car. He doubted very much that his mother would be out of the coma yet, but he prayed that she would nonetheless. 'I can't believe I'm doing this,' he told himself as he made the long drive in silence. 'Why can't I just let this go?!' But even as he thought the words, he realized that he would never have any internal peace until he learned the truth about Jonathan's accusations. 'Sonofabitch,' he thought as he drove, 'you just never could let us go, could you?!'

He took her hand gently in hers and whispered, "Mom? It's Nick ... can you hear me?" He waited for a few minutes for some kind of miraculous sign -- a squeeze of the hand, a muscle twitch, movement of her eyelids ... anything! -- but nothing came. "It's alright," he continued, "I'm here and everything's gonna be alright. I'm sorry I've stayed away so long; sorry about the way I left things the last time we talked. It's just ...." His voice trailed off as he had to choke back the emotion threatening to overtake him.

After a few moments, the young man continued, "Jonathan came after us --at the San Francisco House. Everyone's alright, Mom, but he ... he ... he made some ... accusations; he said that he wasn't my father." He looked hard into the face of the woman before him, wishing again that he would see some kind of sign that she heard him. "Mom," he continued in a whisper, "is it true? I need to know, Mom; I'm not gonna hate you or anything -- I just need t'know!"

Realizing that she wasn't going to respond ... even if she could hear him, Nick released her hand and brushed back his hair in frustration. Somehow he had to learn the truth! But, as he thought this, sadness washed over him; because the real truth was that he just wanted his mother to wake up -- even if she could never tell him anything ... he wanted her to wake up! The young man bent his head to pray for his mother, unaware of the person lurking in the shadows outside her doorway.

"I'm afraid not," came the dreaded reply. "In fact, I'm not sure she's ever gonna regain consciousness, Derek. According to her doctors, her injuries were quite substantial." Derek could see the look of sorrow cross his associate's face. "It's really a shame -- she was such a beautiful and bright woman."

Derek nodded, feeling overwhelmed by emotion and the onslaught of past images of the striking young woman. He cleared his mind of these thoughts and again stated the obvious, "Nick is going to need our help, William. He's searching for the truth ... and we have to help him."

Just as he approached it, a petite elderly woman threw the door open and rushed into his unexpecting arms. "Nicky!" she exclaimed in excitement and emotion. "I had hoped you'd come! Come in, my boy ... come in!" With that, the elderly woman shuffled the young man through the doorway and into the living room area.

It came swift and furiously as he rose and shouted, "You didn't give him anything, did you?!" Realizing that he was yelling at his fragile, elderly Aunt, he sat back down and immediately calmed himself. "I'm sorry -- I didn't mean to yell at you like that. It's just ...."

"Miranda's business is her own," Jeanette finished. "It's alright, Nicky. I would never've given anything private of hers to anyone ... not to anyone -- except you."

Nick looked into the knowing eyes of the spinster and quietly said, "So, she did keep something."

Feeling as though he had just been slapped hard in the face, a sudden flush appeared in Nick's cheeks. Noting his expression, his Aunt quickly recovered, "Oh no ... I didn't mean it like that, my boy. I mean ... giving birth to you and raising a son was the happiest part of my dear sister's life. She only regretted what kind of father -- and husband -- Jonathan had turned out to be. But you must know how much she loves you, Nicky; you must know that!"

Nick's mind was whirling at his Aunt's revelations: his mother had kept some kind of Journal or diary all these years; she was happiest after he had been born -- despite the life they led; and she must have spoken to her sister about her deep love for him! His mind wandered to thoughts of what she had just told him about Jonathan -- that his mother had "regretted" the kind of father and husband he turned out to be. 'Does that mean Jonathan was my father?' his mind screamed. He could feel the overwhelming emotions ready to overtake his aching heart and soul, and so he took another long swallow of the tea to choke them back.

"I know you need to see 'em, my boy," Jeanette interrupted. "But not tonight. You've had a hard time of it, Nicky ... it shows in your eyes. Whatever's happened to you lately has ripped you apart inside -- I can see it as plain as the nose on yer face! You look so much like Miranda when she was younger. Now, you're gonna go to bed and get a good night's rest and we'll talk about yer Mom's things in the morning!" With that, she rose to escort Nick to "his" bedroom.

After he had heard her close her door for the night, Nick stepped back out into the living room. Tears stung his eyes as he looked over all the pictures scattered about the cluttered room. There were so many of his mother that he had never seen before; so many things she'd done recently that he knew nothing about! Finally, he sat on the floor and gazed into the fire, trying to collect his thoughts and control his emotions. He was totally unaware of the man standing out in the chilly Boston air, watching him through the front window.

Only one of the vehicles resembled a make and model he had seen a few streets back. He got the uncanny sensation that he was indeed being followed. 'Get over it,' he told himself, almost starting to laugh. 'Now you're getting paranoid. Who would possibly be following you here in Boston?!' Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought, and with that, he turned and continued on his run, ignoring the strength of the impression that he was still being followed. The man in the car smiled to himself, aware that Nick was beginning to get suspicious. 'That's alright,' the stranger assured himself. 'He still isn't certain I'm here!'

As Nick entered Aunt Jeanette's house, he could smell the signs that she had gotten up and was already busying herself in the kitchen. He walked in and gaped at the feast spread out on the table in front of him. "I didn't know exactly what you would want for breakfast," she explained, noting the stunned expression on her nephew's face. "So I made a little bit of just about everything!"

"That's an understatement," Nick replied as he walked over to the table and sat down. Everything looked and smelled so good that the young man didn't know where to begin. He smiled up at his Aunt as she stood there patiently, ready to serve him an eight-course meal. "Ya know Aunt Jeanette," he chided, "I'm gonna gain every ounce I just ran off and then some if I eat everything you have out here."

She laughed as she placed a small portion of scrambled eggs with diced ham, a half of a bagel loaded with cream cheese and a bowl of steaming hot oatmeal in front of the ex-SEAL. "Well then, why don't you just start with this for now. And," she said turning to the sink and pouring a strong, hot cup of coffee in front of him, "this."

Nick smiled, "I guess you do know me pretty well after all, Aunt Jeanette." He took a long, appreciative swallow of the hot brew and then picked up his fork to dig into the plate before him. After eating several bites and commenting on how good her cooking was and how delicious the meal was, he changed the subject to what he really wanted to talk about -- his mother's Journals. "I really do need to see Mom's Journals, Aunt Jeanette; it's ... well, it's why I'm here."

"I'm her sister," Jeanette stated simply. "I know an awful lot of things about her life, Nicky. What specifically do you want to know about her?"

Clearing his throat, Nick weighed his options; it was clear that his aunt was stalling ... hesitating at letting him read his mother's personal diaries (not that he could blame her for her loyalty to her sister!), but he felt so uncomfortable broaching this subject with someone he still considered a stranger. "Like I said," he answered, a little quieter. "It's about her relationship with my old man. I mean ... I know what he was like when I was a kid -- and I guess she's told you about 'im." He watched as Jeanette slowly nodded her head. "Yeah, well, I need to know if I was the reason he drank -- why he would beat her ... and me."

Jeanette's face was clearly dazed. "What do you mean ... were you the reason?! Nicky ... the man was sick! He had a drinking problem!! That's why he did what he did to you and Miranda! It wasn't your fault, my boy. It was his!"

Nick realized the angle that his aunt was speaking from and realized he was going to have to be more blunt than he had been. He took one more small sip of his coffee and blurted out. "I need to know if Jonathan thought -- for any reason! -- that I wasn't his son. If that's what drove him to drink and do what he did."

Again, he watched a surprised look cross his aunt's face; but, for a moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of something else as well. She rose and placed many of the dishes from breakfast in the sink before responding to Nick's comment. Finally, she turned and stated, "If you're asking me if your mother had an affair while she was married to Jonathan, Nicky, she didn't. And I don't know what kind of foolishness put that thought into your head but ...."

"No," Nick interrupted, rising and standing in front of Jeanette. He took her two hands in his own and gently said. "Something came to my attention -- to the attention of several of the people Mom used to work with before she married my father. It implied that Jonathan wasn't my father; I guess what I'm asking you is ... did she ever say anything to you about his suspecting I wasn't his son?"

"I know that," he answered. "I just need to know the truth."

"Like I said," she continued, almost as though she hadn't heard him. "She was a good woman ... bright, beautiful and full of life when she was a young gal. She flirted something fierce and all the boys were always attracted to her. I have no doubts she behaved the same way when she was out in San Francisco." She paused and then continued, "But she wasn't what you would call a 'loose' woman, Nicky; she did have her standards. I know that she fell in love with several of the men she was working with -- Jonathan included. If there was more to it than that, well ... I guess you'd have to find out for yourself in her Journals."

"Because, I want you to tell your mother what you're doing ... that you're going to be reading her private thoughts and papers!" exclaimed Jeanette. "I want you to face her and let her know what you're doing and why you're doing it. Then, you can read her Journals ... but only then, Nicky!"

'Who would've left a message for me here,' he wondered to himself as he opened the message. 'I should've known!' he thought as he read over the message. It said:

Nick --

It's imperative that we talk as soon as possible. Please call when your receive this message.

-- Derek

Nick crumbled the piece of paper into a tight ball and threw it in the nearest garbage can. 'It's too late for that now, Derek,' he thought to himself as he entered his mother's hospital room. He looked at the helpless figure of his mother and a rash of anger overcome him as he whispered, "It's too late to talk to you now, Derek."

Derek could hear the harshness in Nick's tone and looked up at the Priest, who was listening to the conversation -- Derek had placed the call on speaker-phone the minute the nurse said that she would put Nick on the line. "Listen, Nick," he started, "I realize you're worried about your mother and you're there to seek ... answers, but I think the best thing right now would be for you to come home. We need to talk ...."

"It's too late for that, Derek," Nick responded, his voice rising slightly. He saw the look the nurse shot at him and took a deep breath in order to control the rage and anger building within him. "We've been through all this already. You like to keep secrets and I need answers ... it's not exactly the perfect combination. I'm gonna stay in Boston for however long it takes."

"What?!" Nick practically shouted into the line. He saw the warning look the nurse gave to him, but he didn't much care if he caused a scene right now. 'How dare Derek check up on me!' his mind screamed. "I can't believe this ... you're spying on me now?!"

Realizing that this tactic had only made matters worse, Derek was about to backtrack. He wasn't sure what to say to the angry young man and, before he could answer Nick, Philip cut in, "Nick, it's Philip. I know you're angry and upset, but ya really need t'listen t'us now. You belong back here. We'll find the answers, together, my friend. You can't do this alone, Nick!"

Sitting at the table alone, she recalled how many times she and Miranda had discussed these diaries -- how many times Miranda herself had talked about letting her son read all of them. But now, alone, Jeanette didn't feel that it was her place to make that decision for Miranda. She knew how angry Nick would be if he found out that she had withheld several of his mother's Journals from him, but she just couldn't bring herself to share them all with him -- not unless Miranda were dead ... not unless Miranda agreed to it; she just couldn't betray her own sister like that.

The man in the car following Nick hummed a happy tune to himself. Everything was going to work out just fine; he was certain of that. Watching the ex-SEAL sitting by his mother's bedside in such agony had inspired him. But it was overhearing the conversation on the phone -- the one that Nick had with his Precept and Priest-friend -- that really had encouraged the stranger. 'Soon, Mr. Boyle,' he thought to himself. 'Soon my plan will take place -- and you will take center stage in that plan!'

Nick could feel a lump developing in his throat and struggled to force it down. He moved the books closer to him and looked into his aunt's eyes. "I'm sorry," he replied, "but I have to know the truth, Aunt Jeanette. I can't go on like this -- wondering and not knowing!"

"I said I wished you would have trusted your mother -- trusted her to tell you whatever you needed to know. I wished you didn't feel like the only way you could learn about her is to read her private thoughts and feelings." She noticed the look of anguish on the young man's face, but felt she had to have her say. Jeanette finished by stating, "It's just a shame that you have to read her diaries in order to learn things that you could have asked her about years ago."

Nick felt a rush of anger and shame flood over him. Part of what his Aunt was saying was true ... he knew that in his heart. He had neglected talking to his mother for the past several years and they had drifted further and further apart. But Aunt Jeanette just didn't understand how difficult it was for Nick whenever he spoke to his mother; how just the sound of her voice would bring back a wealth of pain and anguished memories from his childhood. No, he wouldn't feel guilty for protecting himself, he decided. "There's a lot about my mother and I that you don't know, Aunt Jeanette," he snapped. "There are reasons why ....."

Jeanette turned and sharply corrected her nephew. "I know much more than you think I do, Nicky! And some of what I know is how often your mother has sat in this very room in tears because her birthday has come and gone and she's heard no word from her only child. I've seen my sister choke back tears for the past five years because her only son doesn't want anything to do with her! So, don't be telling me that I don't understand things, Nicky, because I understand a whole lot more than you do!"

Nick sat at the table in stunned silence. Never had he guessed that his aunt would attack him so viciously -- or that he had really caused his mother that much grief. His heart ached from the sadness and sorrow that was engulfing him. He struggled to push that all aside, however, as he turned to the volumes in front of him. Within these bound books might lie the answer to his questions and he couldn't give up his quest for the truth -- not now after he had already paid such a high price!

...Nick...

...Something was causing him great physical pain...

...The roar of an unearthly beast -- and the sound of cruel, maniacal laughter...

Derek quickly shook his head, trying to dispel the vision. His last conversation with Nick went horribly and he wondered if he had projected his own personal fear into the vision or if he was really foreseeing something deadly ahead for Nick. Either way, he couldn't and wouldn't allow the young man to continue alone any longer.

I came here to find out the truth and all I've learned is that this has been a terrible mistake. Aunt Jeanette warned me against reading mom's personal diaries and I didn't listen. Now, I've been forced to realize things about myself and what I've done to her that I never knew -- and never wanted to know!

Mom wrote often about how hurt she was that I would never call her; how distant I was toward her and how much pain that caused her. All I ever thought about was my own pain -- I didn't stop to think about hers and the fact that I was causing hers to continue. Maybe I am Jonathan Boyle's son after all because I certainly caused her the same amount of grief and anguish that he did!

But in the end, I didn't learn any answers. There were hints of other relationships within the San Francisco Legacy House at the time, but I couldn't find anything specific. I know that Derek wants me to come "home", but I just can't face him yet ... not after knowing how he really feels about me; he doesn't realize that I overheard him talking to Rachel, but I did. I know what he's thinking ... and how he feels.

So, I'm leaving tonight for London. It's time I face William Sloan. Perhaps I'll get the answers I'm looking for from the Head of the Ruling House. I had this feeling when he left San Francisco that he wanted to tell me something --well, I'm gonna give him that chance now. I know I should call Derek and let him know where I'm headed, but I just can't do it right now. Maybe I'll call from England.

Nick looked up at the departures board at the airport. A plane was leaving for London in two hours, so he made his way to the check-in desk, hoping to get a vacant seat. After Art's less-than-helpful information, and the useless diary entries, Nick felt the only place he might get answers now would be from William Sloan. And, if he couldn't help, Nick just didn't know what he would do. All he knew was that he just couldn't go on like this. He dumped his bag down at his feet as he waited in line, looking around at the bustling patrons rushing past. Nick just couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.

"Who are you?" Nick asked softly, keeping his voice even so as to not show the slight, rising panic he felt.

The voice gave a low, dry chuckle. "Oh, come now! Surely your memory isn't that short!" The voice sighed. "Turn around ... slowly. But I warn you, I have men placed all around the airport, with their guns trained on you. If you try to disarm me -- or try to run -- they will shoot you on the spot."

Nick closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Then he turned around ... and stared into the face of -- Randolph Hitchcock! "What do you want?" Nick hissed, making no attempt to disguise the hate he felt for this man.

"I don't need your kind of help!" Nick said. "I ought to kill you right now for what you tried to do to Derek!"

"Come, Nick, I don't want to fight you." Hitchcock said, his doughy face softening. "I heard about what happened with regards to Jonathan, and I truly am sorry. None of us ever knew what was going on when you were a boy, or we would have done something."

Hitchcock smiled. "If you remember, I was a member of the Legacy, both before and after you were born."

"Nick, let me explain something to you. There were only two women I have ever truly loved in my life; Alicia ... and your mother."

"I ... I don't want to go to San Francisco," Nick stuttered. He didn't want to go back just yet; he wanted to see Sloan, find out some answers. But Hitchcock said he knew the answers himself ...

"Derek, Jonathan's accusation wasn't completely directed at you, you know ... unless you know something, that is!"

"William, I am not Nick's father! It's just ... I feel responsible for him, that's all. He's a member of my team and a dear friend ... he's also Miranda's son -- nothing else."

Sloan arched his eyebrows. "Derek, I didn't mean that I thought you were Nick's father! I just thought that you might know something the rest of us don't, that's all!"

Sloan gave a sly grin. "You'll need it."

"Nick!" Derek called. The young man continued walking away from them, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. "Nick!" Derek repeated, running after him. He caught up to the young man, and grabbed his arm, before stepping away hurriedly. "I'm sorry," he told the stranger before him. "I thought you were someone else."

"William, he wasn't on that plane!" Derek said angrily. "Where is he?! Did it make a stop en route?"

"Then where is he?!"

Derek looked down at his hands. "I don't know," he sighed. "I just ... don't know. But I don't like this ... not one bit!"

Nick looked around the tiny arrivals room on the island's airport, and wondered why the Hell he had come here with Hitchcock. True, the island of Jersey, in the middle of the English Channel, would be the last place Derek or anyone else from the Legacy would look for him, but that thought also made him uneasy. Hitchcock was meant to be the enemy, not the ally; but then, everything Nick knew seemed to have been turned upside down. What did he have to lose?

The older man chuckled. "If there was, do you think I'd be here? No, the nearest House is on mainland France, at Le Touquet. Don't worry, no one will be able to track you here."

That thought was both a comfort and a worry to Nick. What would he do if Hitchcock turned nasty? There would be no help nearby. 'Right!' Nick thought. 'Like anyone can help you now. This is how its always been, Nick -- you against the world. And that's how it'll always be.'

Then, another thought struck Nick. If Hitchcock was a member of the San Francisco House before Nick was born, was he involved in Jonathan's accusations like the others? His "old man" hadn't mentioned Hitchcock but, given how things went down at the time, that didn't mean anything. Nick looked at the doughy-faced, tall man signaling for Nick to follow him.

Nick rolled his eyes heavenwards. 'Oh, man -- what am I doing?!'

"What is this place?" Nick whispered.

Hitchcock turned to him, sunlight glinting off his smudged glasses. "This," he said grandly, "is my home."

"This is the family estate of the DuPonts ... or it was," Hitchcock explained. "They owned the land since the 16th Century, and held annual carnivals for the whole island. When the Germans seized the island during World War II, the DuPonts were killed and the house was commandeered as a base. Fortifications were built under the ground, enhancing the catacombs already there. When the place was opened again in the seventies, after it was finally sold, the new diggings to the catacombs proved unstable."

Hitchcock chuckled, "No; no they haven't, have they?" He motioned towards the house. "So, Mr. Boy ... Nick ... are you ready to face the truth?"

Nick wandered over to the very edge of the cliff, and stared out. The sun sank lower and lower, until it kissed the ocean, casting a fiery glow over the land. A sea breeze gently blew at Nick, but he didn't feel it. His mind was too far away. 'What am I doing here?' he wondered. 'Am I really so desperate to rebel against Derek, that I trust myself to the man who tried to kill him? How do I even know he has the diaries? And, how did he know about them?! Oh God, Aunt Jeanette, why didn't I listen to you?!'

He thought of the conversation he had overheard between Derek and Rachel and rage flooded through him. 'Damn you, Derek!' Nick thought angrily. 'I will find out the truth! Whether you like it or not!' With that, he turned toward the house and headed for the truth, not noticing the translucent, sad-faced sailor that watched him go. The apparition sighed heavily. 'Poor child.' Then, he cocked his head as if listening to someone call him, and faded away into the air.

"But you haven't talked to your Mom for years," Hitchcock carried on. "And now ... unfortunately ... you may never get to talk to her. And if she does die, you'll want to know who your real father is, someone you can talk to, to share your grief with ... if he's still alive, of course."

"That's it?!" Nick asked suspiciously. "You give me my Mom's diaries and I just ... owe you?"

Hitchcock inclined his head, until the light reflected off his glasses, and Nick could no longer see his eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly, a teasing, malicious tone to his voice.

"You know what?" Nick said, "Maybe I should move." He stood up and dutifully followed Hitchcock from the room, the two musclemen close behind. Hitchcock led Nick to a door at the other end of the mansion and pushed it open, motioning Nick inside.

Nick looked around the room again and noticed any windows that might have been there were either bricked up or blocked by the screens. On a hunch, he tested the door. It was locked; he was truly trapped. Nick felt anger course through him at his own stupidity. How could he have let himself get into this situation? He was so stubborn ... so bull-headed ... so much like Derek! Nick sighed, and, resigned himself to the current situation -- for now! -- sitting atop the oak table and spreading the dairies out in front of him. It looked like he might be there a while so he might as well use this time constructively.

The diary began about a year or so before Nick had been born. The first few months were mostly about cases the House had handled. In between were entries about various dates Miranda had been on with members of the House -- Derek, Sloan, Art, Felix, Jonathan ... even Monroe and Cord! Aunt Jeanette was right ... Miranda had loved all the men of the House in her own way, but somehow she had finally ended up with the worst of them.

I had another argument with Jonathan this week. I stormed out of our house and went to Angel Island. Everything is a bit strained between them and I now ... the others are trying to support both Jonathan and I, but my "darling husband" doesn't seem to be getting half the sympathy I am. I wonder if I should tell him that his isn't the only bed on offer .....

Nick stared long and hard at this cryptic ending. What did it mean? Had his mother slept with one of the other House members, just to spite Jonathan? Nick read on, guilt washing over him at reading his mother's private thoughts. He knew he should just put the books away, but Aunt Jeanette had been adamant that Miranda had been faithful to Jonathan throughout her marriage to him. Yet here, Miranda herself was inferring something completely different!

Oh God, what do I tell Jonathan? He'll be thrilled to learn that I'm pregnant, but the conception date -- we had such terrible fights all that week! Oh God, what if Jonathan isn't the father?! I know it can't be William -- he was too drunk that night I stayed with him to do anything but pass out, but what about those other nights? With the others? I made them swear never to say anything, but what if Jonathan does find out? He'd kill me, I know he would! Oh my poor baby, what am I bringing you into?!

Nick gasped! He read the Journal entry over and over, his mind reeling. His mother had slept with the other men -- at least one of them! Aunt Jeanette had lied to him! Nick desperately tried to think who his father could be, if it wasn't Jonathan; Monroe, Cord, Matthew and Felix were all dead, none of them had confessed to Jonathan's angry spirit. His mother had ruled out the possibility of William Sloan. That left Jonathan, Art, Derek and ... Hitchcock!

The young man began to flip desperately through the Journal, looking for some sort of clue but couldn't find any. The last entry he read, however, sent a chill down his spine -- "He knows," Miranda had written.

"Oh, God, Jonathan found my diary ... and he knows!"

"Why couldn't you have told me Mom?" he cried out loud. "I loved you so much ... why couldn't you have trusted me?!"

"You knew what was in them?" Nick said, quietly. Hitchcock nodded. "Do you know who my real father is?" Nick carried on.

"Then who is it?!" demanded Nick angrily.

Hitchcock's grin widened. "Personally, all my money's on Derek. Your mother loved him most, even though she married Jonathan. They were always terribly close."

"So, you slept with my mother?!" Nick said angrily.

"Why?" Nick cried, "Why him?!"

"How did you do this?!" Nick asked, amazed.

"You spied on us?!" Nick was incredulous. How could someone ... even Hitchcock ... have the nerve to do that!

William can't find any trace of Nick anywhere! It seems he's just disappeared, and he hasn't told anyone where he is going. I'm fed up with this; I don't care whether he comes back now or not! I've had it with his attitude and tantrums. That kid has a massive chip on his shoulder and frankly, I'm glad I don't have to deal with it anymore! Things will be a lot easier -- and quieter -- if he just stays away. I'm glad he's Jonathan's son and not mine; I wouldn't want Nick as my son for all the wealth in the world!

Derek stood in the center of the Control Room catching his breath. His worry, anger and frustration had gotten the better of him and he had taken it out on Nick in the only way he could -- in his Journal. Thinking now of the harsh comments he had written, he walked back to his desk and pulled out the Journal.

The entry was written on a fresh page -- almost as though it had been done so on purpose! -- and Derek grasped the upper corner of the paper. He dimly recalled the warning that Legacy Journals were never to be tampered with. They were used to record feelings and observations and should never have pages missing or items blacked out simply because the feeling about that subject had changed.

"I'm afraid poor Aunt Jeanette is dead," Hitchcock said, without emotion. "How else do you think I obtained those diaries?"

"You bastard!" Nick screamed, launching himself at Hitchcock. The older man went down with a grunt, flinging his arms up to protect his face from Nick's fists. Nick became more and more furious as Hitchcock began to laugh, though the vicious blows from his younger adversary did knock the wind out of him. Rage and grief coursed through the young man as he thought of his fragile aunt, ruthlessly murdered by the man who had slept with his mother.

"That's enough!" Hitchcock's voice rang out through the room. The lackey grunted and shoved Nick unceremoniously back onto the sofa. Hitchcock jerked his head towards the door and the other man left. Hitchcock came and stood before Nick, reaching into his suitcoat pocket. He brought out a hypodermic needle, and gently squeezed the end, letting some of the fluid spray out.

Hitchcock stared at his captive and then jabbed him viciously in the ribs. Nick gave a yell of pain and his eyes clouded over. "Did that hurt?" Hitchcock asked innocently. Then his eyes narrowed and hardened, and he leaned forward until he was face to face with the ex-SEAL. "I can make the pain go away Nick, just make the call."