Part Thirty One: Hidden Faults

"Let me get this right, Mike. You told me you lived in town, in a house with no surveillance and not even live-in help, for the past four years?" Don paced back and forth in agitation around the study of his spacious San Jose house.

"You have that right, Don," Mike sighed, and shrugged in nonchalance. "So what?"

Don halted his pacing to stare stone-faced at Mike. "So... what?"

"Funny acoustics in this room," Mike said to Rahab. "Did you notice the echo?"

"This is hardly the time for comedy," Don snapped. "You may think it's all fun and games, but you have risked the lives of your wife and children because they lack the skills and experience you have for self defense, and you just sit there and smirk at me like the perpetual teenager that you are... you never cease to amaze me with your reckless lack of common sense."

"We're lacking a lot here, aren't we, Don," Mike said calmly. "I dare say, if I listed whatever I lacked in comparison to you, it would be a very long list indeed."

Don was silent a moment. His eyes unfocused, as though his mind was switching gears. At length he looked up. "All right," he said. "I won't let you bait me like this, it isn't productive. I was simply posturing my extreme disapproval, more for Rahab's sake than for yours, since you continue to choose to disregard my advice."

"Then maybe you should be talking to Rahab, and not me," Mike said.

"I assumed you were the head of the family. I take it Rahab is running things now?"

"I'm still the head of the family, Don," Mike said.

Don's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "I see. Well, your sense of leadership certainly shows!"

As Don turned away from them to get himself another drink, Mike rolled his eyes at Rahab, who frowned at him in return.

"Just humor him," she mouthed.

Don leaned against the steel top of the art-deco bar, and moodily sipped from a small glass. He seemed to have forgotten about them.

Mike and Rahab exchanged glances again, and Mike got up. "Hey, bro, mind if I get a refill?"

Don's brow knitted, as he sized him up. "No, I do not mind, as long as you try to remember I am not your "bro". Now is that understood, or should I draw a diagram?"

Mike grinned at Don as though he had just received a joke, and then gave Rahab a questioning look, pointing at his glass.

Rahab shook her head. "None for me, thanks."

Mike whistled tunelessly through his teeth, as he pulled another draught of beer from the row of spigots. He scraped the head off the top of the glass with a forefinger, licked it, and then eyed the bottle by Don's elbow. "German rum, huh? Dude, that's high test. You better ease up on that... but do you mind if I sample some of it first?"

Don wordlessly pushed the nearly empty bottle across the bar to Mike, who poured the remaining contents into his beer.

"What are you doing, Mike?" Rahab asked in mock disgust.

"It's called a boilermaker, darling lady," Mike said, flashing her a charming grin, before sampling the drink. He winced as he swallowed it. "Hoo, that'll put hair on my chest." He stroked the smooth, glossy surface of his plastron. "Well... maybe not. Hey, Don. Let's raise a couple more for my studio, and your skyscraper."

"Mike, I don’t want to discuss it." Don let go of the bar, and sat down beside Rahab. He gazed at her a moment. "Tell me something, Rahab. Am I paranoid?"

"Well..." Rahab started to say.

"Yes, Donnie-boy, you are very, very paranoid," Mike chimed in, approaching the sofa.

"Is your name Rahab?" Don growled. "I was talking to your wife... that is, if you don't mind."

"'Course not! So long as you were only talking to her."

Don gave Mike a long, narrow look.

Silence descended on the room. Don closed his eyes and sat so quietly, Rahab thought he had fallen asleep. Mike's face relaxed as his eyes unfocused, lost in his own reverie.

"Getting pretty late, guys," Rahab said as she stretched her arms over her head. "I think I'll go upstairs."

Don's eyes snapped open. He stared at her, as though she were a ghost. "Rahab, D'you think I'm a murderer?"

Rahab's jaw dropped. "No... of course not, Don."

Don didn't seem to hear her. "When I was at the building site, there were a lot of people standing around, watching the rescue teams carry the bodies out. I didn't get out of the car, I knew there was nothing I could do at the time, and didn't want to stay long, because almost as soon as I arrived, people gathered around the car, hit the windows with their hands and tried to see in... I could see their expressions of rage and hurt, and hear them shouting obscenities at me, and calling me a- a murderer."

"How can you blame yourself?" Rahab tried again.

"Over two hundred families in the city alone, lost someone last week... and the count is still rising. Two hundred-plus funerals, and the people gather there, and grieve."

"It was a stupid earthquake, how can they blame you for that," Mike muttered from the other end of the long sofa.

"Yes, my building was earthquake resistant, it exceeded the building code. But it was built on a hidden fault that started half a mile down... and came to the surface in a matter of seconds, and shifted everything several feet in two different directions, including every edifice that stood on it. They said I should have known, but there was no fault found there at the time. What the hell do they expect, with three continent-size tectonic plates grinding away together like bumper cars under the Los Angeles basin? That last collision pushed the San Bernardino mountains up another meter and a half, something that has been going on for millions of years. Where the hell do they think those damn mountains came from? The place is a spider web of faults. I can't find all of them, can I? I've only been around for the last 38 years, I'm not God, I can't do it all, can I?" Don's voice cracked, and he stopped to catch his breath.

"Of course not, Don," Rahab said gently.

"And somehow I knew it was going to happen, the rabbits crossing on the freeway, that told me something... I could have made a phone call, or something... could have done it," Don muttered, digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.

"What could you have done," Mike burst out. "What? Call and tell City Hall to evacuate millions of people?"

"Mike, don't be ridiculous." Don breathed deeply, as if he were trying to get his emotions under control.

"It's okay to cry," Rahab said softly.

Don turned his hard gaze on her, his jaw muscles tight. "I know that!"

Mike looked up, indignant. "Hey! She's just trying to help you, Don. Don't snap her head off."

"Mike, he's obviously upset-" Rahab said.

"So frigging what? He shouldn't be talking to you like that. I'm dead sick of hearing him bark at you every time he's in a lousy mood. He knows better, so don't defend him."

"Well, I do it, myself..." Rahab said absently.

Don slowly got up and wandered aimlessly around the room, ignoring Mike's outburst.

Mike stood, a little unsteadily, and scowled at Don's back. "Hey, you know, that long legged horse of yours is getting tired of carrying you around all the time. Why won't you climb down?"

Don didn't respond.

"Hey, Donnie, din'tcha hear me? I said, why won't you get off your high horse?" Mike leaned against the back of the sofa and folded his arms. "Or maybe I should help you down?"

Don had stopped to examine a painting on the wall. "I'd like to see you try," he said mildly.

Mike was already up close behind him, about to grab him in a headlock, but somehow fell over his own feet and landed hard, skidding on his carapace down the wide marble steps that led to the main living room. Don acted as though he hadn't noticed, and moved on.

Mike gradually got up, grimacing a little from the exertion of the fall. "You little fungus, you tripped me!"

"Did not, you fell all by your sorry old self," Don said to a sculpture he was pretending to admire.

"You tripped me," Mike insisted, following Don around the room.

"Did not,"

"Did too!"

"Did not."

"Oh, you guys," Rahab cut in, getting up from her perch. "I'm going to bed, before you regress any farther."

Don seemed to be preoccupied with another painting, as Mike stood behind him, fists on hips in an indignant stance.

"Good night," she said, but nobody responded. Sighing, she headed upstairs.

Someone sat heavily at the foot of the bed, waking Rahab. The smell of whisky made her wrinkle her nostrils.

"It's about time you came up," she muttered, blinking at the figure in the dark.

"Why, what time is it?"

She sat up and pulled the comforter up to her throat. "Don? What... where's Mike?"

"Aah, he fell asleep whilst I was speaking with him. I must have been talking over his head... as usual," Don said, chuckling in mild amusement, as he playfully tweaked one of her toes through the covers. Rahab drew her foot back in reflex.

"Oops, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No... It just took me by surprise, that's all."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to hurt you. I'd never do that, honest."

"Don, are you okay?"

"I'm not terribly sure, I feel a little confused, right now," Don said in a half whisper.

Rahab said nothing. She wasn't sure what to do, or why Don was sitting on her bed in the middle of the night, he had never done anything like this before.

"I can't sleep, Rahab, every time I do, I keep seeing people's faces wallpapered against the car windows, as they slap the glass with the palms of their hands..." Don sounded as though he was having trouble enunciating.

"Don, you've got to stop doing this self-flagellation thing, it's... I don't know... counterproductive." She stifled a yawn.

She heard Don draw a slow, deep breath. "I'm keeping you awake, aren't I? I'm really sorry, I just can't sleep, and I just needed somebody to talk to, that's all. Mike's fallen asleep, the lucky bastard."

"It's all right. If you want to talk, Don, I'm willing to listen," Rahab said, as she adjusted the pillows behind her back.

Don groaned softly and crawled across the bed and leaned against the backboard beside her. He rested his head on the bolster, and folded his hands across the belt of his kimono.

"I hope you aren't angry with me, Rahab. God knows, the rest of the world is, right now. At least half the city of Los Angeles is... I don't like pissing people off."

"Not at all, Don," Rahab managed to say. when Don paused for breath.

"I would be crushed if you were. Absolutely crushed."

"I'm not, honest." Rahab smoothed the edge of the comforter across her chest.

"Okay..." Don's voice was barely audible. He was quiet for a moment, then he carefully cleared his throat. "I just want you to know something. I hold the greatest respect for you and your commitments, and I am very fond of you, as well. I just... wanted to make that clear."

"Okay..." Rahab said, unwittingly imitating Don. She sat in silence, and continued to arrange the comforter around her.

"Why are you so quiet, Rahab? Am I talking too much? I'm talking too much, aren't I? Ye gods, I can't seem to shut the hell up."

"No, no, it's okay. I... I don't really have much to say, and you can talk all you want."

"That's perfectly all right, you don't need to say anything. Rahab, you are so considerate, I admire you for that. You really are a wonderful person, you know that?"

"Well, um, thanks."

In the darkness, Rahab could sense Don shifting in her direction. She could hear his light, steady breathing, and wondered what he was thinking.

"Don?" She asked at length.

"Hm?"

"Are you... okay?

"I am not," he muttered. "I’m about as far from ‘okay’ as one can possibly get, I think."

Rahab thought hard for a moment. "Is this some sort of a confession, Don?"

"Yes it is," Don replied without hesitation. "It is a confession, because I cannot cope with this any longer, Rahab. It is not something I could discuss with my brothers, or my employees, or anyone else for that matter, because I don't want to lose face with them. I never asked for help, not even when I lost Bara, and nearly my own life. It was... a terrible mistake."

"What was a mistake?" Rahab asked hesitantly.

"Thinking I was strong enough to handle all of that. I had too many responsibilities, I could not let go of them long enough to fulfill my own needs. Getting help would have rendered me vulnerable at a time when I would not let anyone near me. It was really very frightening, but I didn't let on about it. I forgot I am only flesh and blood, and now the time has come to pay the price."

"What price, Don?"

"I don't know." He sighed quietly, and was still for a while. It was beginning to get light outside, and she could now make out the edge of his face as he stared, unblinking, up at her. "I think I'm experiencing some sort of bio-neurological maladjustment, or my global executive functioning is on the verge of a breakdown... and there's nothing I can do about it."

"You can get help," Rahab said. "There's nothing wrong with that. No one should suffer alone, and it's obvious you have been carrying a terrible burden for a long time. I was in pretty bad shape when that explosion temporarily took my hearing. Not only did I recover with the help of therapy, but I learned a lot more about myself, and my own limitations. There are some wonderful people out there, who don't care who you are, or what you look like. So long as you are willing to accept their help, they are willing to give it. All you need to do, Don, is swallow your pride and ask for help."

"There is nothing left to swallow, Rahab. Nothing left at all... there's only an implosion... in the very center of my existence... " Don slowly rolled up and lay like an armadillo on his side, and covered his face in his hands. "It's becoming unbearable," he whispered.

Rahab reached out to take him up in a firm hug. "It will be okay, Don. You’ll be all right."

"’Think so?"

"I know so."

He closed his eyes and eventually relaxed in her arms, and it wasn't long before he was asleep.

She blinked as she felt Mike fling himself onto the bed behind her back, so he could look across her at Don, who hadn't stirred. His head was resting on her arm, so when she tried to move it out from under him, she found it was numb from the weight of his neck.

Rahab glared at him. "I know this looks really wierd, but give me a chance to explain first, before you start in with me, okay?"

"Hoo, this is gonna be some explanation," Mike said softly, watching her struggle to get her arm out from under Don. He suddenly reached around her waist and pulled her free.

"Thanks," she murmured, as she stood up.

Don turned and blinked up at them, and then slowly pulled a pillow over his head.

"Head hurting, bud?"

"Mike, hush," Rahab said. "Let him sleep."

Rahab then tightened the sash of her housecoat and headed downstairs, where the kids were having their breakfast.

Mike came down soon afterward, looking thoughtful. Rahab hope he hadn’t harassed Don any further, but he draped himself across an easy chair, to read the paper. Rahab stared into her teacup.

Eventually Mike tossed the paper aside with a sigh. "Lotsa damage from that quake, huh?"

"Yes," Rahab said, nodding absently in agreement.

"The insurance guys are supposed to go down to look at what's left of the studio, today."

"I hope it all works out."

"Thanks."

"Mike?"

"Hm?" He looked up from the paper.

"I hope you didn’t take that all wrong... it’s just... Don’s not in very good shape, right now."

"Yeah, I know." He sighed gustily. "I think this building falling down was only the icing on the cake."

"Do you think we should call someone for help?"

He gave her a long look. "I think it’s best we not interfere. Don will work out Don’s stuff."

"Well, I'm just worried about him."

"He’s gonna be okay. Okay? Just let him alone. He knows what to do. Enough said."

She got up and went to put her arms around his neck. "All right, enough said."

"All right," Mike stood, and scooped Rahab up in an embrace. "So! How's about we go up and soak our poor aching bods in the hot tub?"

"Sounds like a good one to me," Rahab said, playfully imitating his voice, as he went up the stairs with her.

Next section... Rahab 32