Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Your Lies Won't Leave Me Alone

Cynthia Holtz settled into her seat on the bus. She adjusted her frail bones until she found a position that would not have her arthritis acting up when she finally reached her destination. She could hear the argument her eldest daughter would give her when she arrived in Port Charles, if she got there with stiff joints. It was already bad enough that she would have to justify her preference in riding the bus to the plane tickets her children always wanted to buy her.

Despite what her children thought, it wasn't a fear of flying or the modern world that kept Cynthia grounded. The bus gave her plenty of time for her lifelong favorite activity, people watching. She could spend hours at it. She loved watching and wondering where the person in front of her was going, what they were thinking, what were the reasons for their trip. On a plane, the journey was over quickly and watching people out the window was not an option. Nope. Cynthia Holtz would take the bus as long as she was able to go visit her children on her own terms.

The bus was not crowed, but there were still a few passengers trickling in. The ride to Port Charles never did draw many riders, outside of the those who would switch buses and go on to Buffalo. However, Cynthia loved this particular route. There always was an interesting person who was headed to the small city.

A young man walking down the aisle caught Cynthia's eye. At first, she thought that he looked like her middle grandson, only a little older. His hair needed cutting and there were strands that fell into his eyes, like Sean's always did. He ran his fingers through his hair, haphazardly as Sean did. As he came closer, Cynthia realized that he was actually younger looking than Sean, possibly by several years. However, the way the young man carried himself aged him. It was as if the weight of the world rested heavily on his slim shoulders. His blue eyes did not look like the eyes of a young man. There was no trace of happiness, mischief or anything else that would suggest that the young man had his future lay out before him.

Instead his eyes were full of unshed tears and of something else that Cynthia couldn't quite put her finger on. It looked like a mixture of anger and fear. Although what he could possibly be angry about she couldn't guess.

He selected a seat across the aisle from her and stored his bag above him. Their eyes caught each other's as he sat down in the seat by the window. Cynthia smiled warmly at him, and he returned it weakly. He did look nice when he smiled and she would bet money that his mother would always ask him why he didn't smile more often. ''Hello'' she offered warmly.

''Hello'' he returned the greeting politely. He grabbed at the backpack he had dropped into the seat next to him and dug out his headphones. He put them on and made a great show of trying to settle down for a nap.

Cynthia nodded wisely. Her grandson did the same thing when he didn't want to deal with anyone. The young man was wrestling with some demons. That much was obvious. What wasn't obvious, was if he was running to them or away from them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucky tried to concentrate on the music but it was no use. He could not stop going over what had happened at the ticket counter. Why the hell had he asked for the ticket to Port Charles? That was not the plan! He was going home. Port Charles was not home.

He sighed a little and shifted in his seat. The voices in his head had been battling ever since he had learned the truth of his ''adoption'' and now it had become a full fledged war . Go home. Search. Go home. Search. Every second of everyday. And with every second his resolve changed.

At times he felt like he could live without knowing the truth. He could go one with his life and never know what had happened to his birth parents or why they left him and never came back. He could go home and deal with how to go on now that his father was gone, and with the overwhelming guilt that he felt for what he had said to him.

He shifted his weight again in a move to distract himself from the guilt. He leaned his head against the window. The same question he had been trying to ignore since he landed in Washington repeated itself in his head.

Could he live without the truth?

Lucky had always been a believer in the truth. He had seen first hand what secrets had done to his parents'marriage. He had never wanted to go through what they had gone through. Even though he knew they loved each other, his mother's secret still almost destroyed his family. His entire world had been shifted once because of a secret his parents kept from him and now the same thing was happening again.

He could somewhat admit to himself that it was the heat of anger that made him want to seek his birth parents. What better way to hurt the ones who lied to him than to find the ones who abandoned him? He had to smile at that logic. Which hurt worse? The hurt you never knew you had till a few days ago or one that was on top of an old wound you thought had healed over? His philosophy professor would love that one.

Could he live without the truth?

He let his mind wander to his birth parents. What were they like? Why had they left him? Did he look like either of them? Did he act like his father or mother? Did he have any more brothers or sisters? Did they abandon them as well or did they keep them? If they kept them, why was he so disposable? Did they wonder about him? Why didn't they come back? Why didn't they even try to contact him?

Or had they? Had they and his parents not told him as so not to hurt him ?

Could he even find them? All he had was a name that they had left when they dropped him off. A relative to contact if he had gotten sick. He still remembered how he got that name.

~~~~~~~~~~

''They didn't leave you anything? No number. No forwarding address. Just ''Here take our kid.'' No way to get in contact with them?'' He yelled at his mother. The anger and fury that he thought he had burned out when he left his father's room returned in full force.

His mother felt the tears roll down her eyes even harder. She knew that her husband would tell him before he died. She had been dreading this day since the day Lucky had been given to them. Should they have told him the truth earlier? She knew her son well enough to know that he would have reacted the same way no matter when they told him. And she also knew that he would want to find his birth parents. She could admit to herself now that she had held off telling him because she hadn't wanted to lose him to his phantom parents. They may have given birth to him, but damn it she raised him and loved him. She was the one who comforted him when he was sad and who he turned to when he needed help.

Lucky watched his mother carefully. Some part of him hated that he was hurting her this way. Especially now. His timing was to be desired. But another,angrier part of him wanted answers. His entire identity was wiped from him and he was supposed to be sympathetic and understanding? He didn't know what to feel or how to feel it. Anger was easiest. Anger was familiar. So anger ruled his actions and anger wanted answers.

His mother took a deep breath. ''There was a name. They gave us a name that we should contact if anything ever happened to you. They said especially if you disappeared or were kidnapped to call this person. Only in a true life or death emergency.''

He hadn't thought that they would leave a name, but a name was a start. A name lead to a person who could possibly lead him to the answers he needed.

''I need the name, mother.''

He hadn't called her mother for years. Not since that terrible time when he left home. He used it now deliberately. She knew he would not be satisfied until she gave him what she had.

''I'll get it for you.''

~~~~~~~~

He felt like the lowest form of scum for what he did to his mother. He should have been more understanding. He should have waited longer. He should not have been that cold to her.

''You are one sick bastard'' he muttered to himself.

The name was safely in the pocket of his jeans. He took it out and reread it for the millionth time since he had gotten it. A name and a town. That was all he had to go on. His mother said his birth parents said this person could be trusted and would be easy to find in this town. He hoped the same would hold true all these years later.

What was he thinking? He wasn't going to look for the parents he had never known. He was going home. He should throw this name away the second the bus stopped. He didn't need it. His parents obviously hadn't bothered to look him up so why should he look them up?

He tried to will himself to crumble the paper up but instead he found himself refolding it carefully and putting it back in the pocket of his jeans. It was as if his subconscious mind was trying to override his every intention of leaving his past in the past. He sighed.

He wondered if the better question was could he live without trying to find the truth?

He looked out the window. He had better decide soon. A sign they had just passed announced that Port Charles was 50 miles away.

In under an hour he would be there.

In under an hour, he had to answer that one question.

Could he live without the truth?

''Well,'' he asked himself. ''Can you?''