Avon Palace/Los Angeles, California
Early November/Late-1995
How does one make up for missing the first thirty-five years of his son's life? There are those who would say I should have been more careful, and perhaps they are right. It could probably also be said that I should have investigated off my own bat, rather than wait for a prompting like the one I got from both Karl and Max. However, I had been under the mistaken impression that if a woman I had had an affair with discovered later that she was carrying my child, she would have told me, and in that case I would certainly have lived up to my responsibilities. After all, both Pamela and Thérèse were willing to talk with me over the matter, and with the latter it brought us back together again.
Maybe I am more of a cad than I had realised? I truly hope not, and it certainly isn't a characteristic I would have given myself, but those who would accuse me of it may be justified, and that disturbs me. Believe me, it isn't a mistake I intend to make again. Hell, it was never intentional before, and it is somewhat sobering to have one's weaknesses paraded in front of you in this kind of way.
Whatever the reasons, be it carelessness or deceit, I now find myself with sons I never knew I had. Sons that in at least two cases, had I known about them I might have stopped them going down the path they followed in their lives: to become Head of the Thule Society in Haven in one case, and one of his chief enforcers in the other. I suppose it can be argued that their sponsors would have guessed my attitude to them, which is why I was kept in the dark, but does that really abrogate my guilt at not knowing of them? Perhaps even as late as the nineteen twenties I was too naïveto realise how I was being used.
And then there is John. A different case again. Born after the war, and therefore hopefully not a child the Thulists wanted me to father. I remember his mother, Lisa, with some fondness. I was living in London on Earth Prime for a few months at the end of the fifties, and I met her one evening at the Palace Theatre - I was one of the patrons of a production she was involved in. I suppose we were together for six months or so, before she met up with an American cameraman over in England on a shoot, and was enticed away with dreams of Hollywood. Her initial letters had made it sound as if she was happy, but she made no mention of anything else, and once I returned to Terra Magica we lost contact.
To find out about John when I started researching my past sins was a big surprise. Especially as I had since run across my son under completely different circumstances: introduced by Saint-Germain because of some mutual acquaintances I needed to contact when I was doing the preparatory work for the military side of Avon's forces. I guess probability always gets a little strained around those of Amber and Chaos blood, whether or not they are initiates of either the Pattern or the Logrus.
Trying to find a good moment to tell him what I had learned was difficult. By then he was in my employ, helping set up a police force for my new realm, as well as looking into a problem of mutual interest, the activities of the Thulists in the Arden kingdoms, and it took a while to decide whether I should actually tell him at all. I guess the fact that Mossad were still after his blood - literally, given that Wilhelm Kluge had changed him into one of the "living" vampires that de Beq and his men became centuries ago - meant I felt I had to give him a good reason why I was willing to extend my protection to him. Strangely enough, it seemed important to me that he knew I cared about his well being for a better reason than just that he was useful to me.
God but it was hard, though. Trying to explain to a grown man that the person he had known as his father was not his natural parent, making John someone other than who he thought he was, and also confirming that claims made to him by Kluge, his arch enemy, that they were closely related, actually had some basis in fact. Drummond, Kluge and "Fritz". Brothers all, and yet John was as like unto them as I am to my father.
Thinking of William's reaction, and even Andrew's somewhat earlier, I found myself wondering if it ever gets any easier. I imagine I was as disbelieving when Brand told me the truth. As for John, I would not have blamed him for deciding there and then that I was crazy, and leaving Avon forever. And yet he listened, and while he was surprised, and I think frightened, he did not immediately laugh in my face. I think that would have probably hurt more than anything else he could have done.
It wasn't the most comfortable of meetings, of course. Especially as at times he reminded me of Kelric - painfully unsure of himself, where normally I think he would know exactly what he wanted and why. It made me uncomfortable to think that I was causing it, and as we spoke I felt more and more convinced that I owed him something, both for the years I had been gone and for the hurt and confusion I could feel in him.
I looked across at him and thought for a moment, before coming up with at least one possible solution. I remembered that he had mentioned his wife in one of our previous conversations - seriously hurt in an accident and unlikely to recover in her current circumstances on Earth - and considered whether I perhaps could help him there.
"I will agree that all this is going to take some getting used to," I said, gently, "however I wish there was something I could do to help you...and maybe to try and make up for some of this. I was wondering. What about Cathy? Is there anything I can do to help there?"
He paused for a moment, then looked at me.
"I can let you take a look..." he said, quietly.
"I would be happy to, if you are willing," I answered, trying not to push.
He looked at me again and smiled, then nodded.
"If you like we can head off when we're done here," I said, quietly.
"Thanks, Robert," he replied, obviously still unsure about the form of address, but beginning to get used to it. I smiled, and the conversation moved on.
About twenty minutes later, we seemed to have covered as much as we were likely to without further confusing him or generally blowing his mind.
"Shall we head for LA?" I asked, finally.
"I guess we might as well," he answered, "are you sure you can do anything?"
"I cannot promise, of course," I answered, "but Claire has been in a similar situation before now, and I managed to help her. I will do my best to do the same for Cathy. If you can give me a decent picture of your apartment, we can gate through, and then I can see what I can do."
He paused for a moment, then let me take the picture out of his head. A well appointed apartment, decorated in pretty good taste for an American. Maybe his English genes had had an effect on him, after all. I visualised it, and then transported us. John looked startled, but recovered once he realised that the surroundings were familiar.
"One day I'm going to get used to that," he said, grinning nervously.
"One day I can try to teach you how to do it, if you'd like," I replied, smiling. After all, the man was my son, and therefore the chances of him being Talented were pretty good. "Do you want to arrange transport for the next stage?"
"Okay," he answered, eagerly, "come on."
We headed out of the apartment, and down into the basement garage. John led me over to a red BMW and unlocked the doors.
"My pride and joy," he said, smiling.
"Not bad," I commented, "at least you have decent taste in cars."
I got the impression that he was considering a retort, but in the end he said nothing more. He just grinned again, and slid into the driver's seat. I opened the passenger door and climbed in beside him. Once I had fastened the seat belt, he gunned the engine and drove us out of the car park. The sun was bright, although I noticed that he didn't open the sun roof. Perhaps it was cooler than it looked. Quickly and confidently, he pulled out into the traffic, and we made our way towards the hospital where Cathy was a patient.
"What exactly happened to her?" I asked, as he drove, "you said she was in an accident, but didn't go into any details."
"She was on the set of a movie," he began, a trace of sadness in voice, "they were working on a chase scene, and the car she was in rolled over. The driver was killed instantly. Cathy went through the windscreen and received multiple head injuries in the process. She was dragged clear before the fuel tank on the car went up, but the damage was already done."
"When did it happen?"
"About a year ago, now," he answered, "the doctors seem to have given up hope."
"Then we have to prove them wrong," I answered, gently.
We pulled up at the hospital about twenty minutes later, and John parked. Then we headed inside. The nurse on duty greeted my companion, and we were left to go up to Cathy's room alone. John opened the door and we went in.
The woman on the bed looked frighteningly fragile: an effect worsened by the tubes and wires attaching her to the medical equipment that was keeping her alive. I always forget just how primitive health care on Earth can be - a good mind mage can cure so many of the apparently impossible cases that the Terran doctors give up on. I crossed to the bed and had a look at her: very thin, her long, dark hair limp, and her face deathly pale, although I could see that she used to be a very beautiful woman. There was little sign of her injuries now, of course, although I could see scarring on her forehead and temple.
"Do you reckon you can do anything for her?" John asked.
"I guess I'm about to find out," I replied, and I sat myself down on the bed beside her. As I did so, I was eerily reminded of the day when Claire was in the same position. I hoped that my attempt to help my daughter-in-law would meet with the same degree of success. "Can you watch the door to make sure that we aren't disturbed - I give you my word that I won't hurt her, but the doctors might be less convinced."
"Sure," he answered, and crossed to the door.
With that. I put my hand on Cathy's forehead, and started gently probing to see what I could find. The physical damage was greater than Claire had suffered, and the fact that I did not know her as well would not help. However, it did not look impossible. Very carefully, I started to work, first mending the damage, and then starting to free her mind.
The damage was definitely the easy part. A few healing and regenerative spells, and it was soon gone. If only the people of Earth Prime encouraged and nurtured their mentalists, rather than ridiculing them. Healing and unlocking the mental damage was harder, of course. Looking in her head, it appeared that she was locked at the moment when she went through the windscreen of the car. Slowly and carefully, I began to unravel the strands. Fear, shock, surprise, pain. All of them interwoven at the moment when she was hurt. I knew then that it was going to take a long time, but one glance at John, standing nervously by the door, and I felt I had to try.
As always with these things, I have no idea how long it took. My first indication that something had changed came as I heard the tone on one of the monitors change. I looked up, and saw that where one of them had previously been virtually flat, there was now some activity. From his position by the door, John also heard the change and came over. I looked at Cathy and saw that her breathing seemed stronger, and no longer appeared to be linked to the respirator beside her. The alarms on it went off seconds later.
"What have you done to her?" he asked, his tone concerned, almost frightened.
"I've repaired the damage, and tried to ease her back. It should have worked...but I guess we'll see soon enough."
"Christ, Robert," said John, "you look white."
"I'm tired," I answered, slowly, getting to my feet. I meant it too, although the effort had been more mental than physical.
Moments later a doctor came in at a flat run.
"What the Hell happened?" he asked, sounding highly alarmed.
I looked across at John, who answered him. "I was sitting by her, talking to her, and suddenly the monitors seemed to change," he said, almost convincingly.
"And who are you?" he demanded, looking at me.
"A friend of the family," I answered, "what's happened?"
"I don't know how, but she's breathing on her own again," came the reply, as he carefully unhooked at least that machine, "we'll need to do some tests. Mr. Drummond. I am going to have to ask you and your companion to wait outside."
John looked across at me, a little unsure, but I nodded. He shrugged, and we walked out into a nearby waiting area.
"Did it work?" he asked, finally.
"I think so," I replied, "although I don't know enough about what those machines were monitoring to be sure. I am hopeful, though."
John looked at me, I think still trying to decide if I was serious or not, but he said nothing. For my part, I just got myself a coffee from a nearby vending machine, and then sat down on one of the hard, plastic chairs and watched my son nervously pacing up and down. Under normal circumstances, I would have tried to calm him, but I felt too tired.
About fifteen minutes later, the doctor came out to join us.
"Mr. Drummond. I think you had better come and see your wife," he said, smiling, "I don't know what the Hell you said to her, but she seems to be coming around."
John looked across at me, then back at the doctor.
"Do you want to come as well?" he asked me, his tone suddenly a lot lighter than it had been.
"You go ahead. I'll step in to introduce myself in a few minutes."
"Okay."
Then he fell into step beside the doctor, but as they went back into Cathy's room, I could see that there was a broad grin on John's face.