Chapter 35 - Do not go gentle, Part IV

"Chloe, honey?" Nancy waited before her daughter's closed bedroom door, listening for any response, even a faint rustle of movement.

Outside, swallows chirped in welcoming song. Morning had come. A new day after what could've only been described as nightmarish. Perhaps, thought Nancy, when she'd first awoken, it'd been just a bad dream, stemming from a parent's greatest fear. After all, the media loved to flash stories of scandal and violence. It was bound to seep into one's mind and unconscious. Didn't Craig read from the newspaper the other day that youth violence was at its lowest point in decades? Schools were the safest places for children to be.

Yes, Nancy told herself, while she applied her makeup and dressed for the day. What a doozy of a dream it had been. A school shooting in the little quiet town of Salem. Her child covered in blood and so shaken as to withdraw into herself, leaving a feeble shell of her Chloe in her place. Thank God that horrifying experience was just a product of Nancy's imagination and ill-digested chilidog.

Beginning to laugh at the depths of her own silliness, Nancy turned up her clock radio just in time for the last movement of Schumann. "That was Schumann," purred the soft-toned radio host, "'Dreaming' from 'Scenes of Childhood.'" Nancy began to hum, as she took one last approving look in the mirror, lending a half-ear to the radio broadcast.

"And here is your local news… Salem Police continue their investigation into the case of juvenile gunman Andrew Auerbach, who opened fire on faculty and fellow students at Salem High School yesterday morning, and then killed himself. One teacher and four students are dead, while nine are wounded, including another teacher and three students reported in critical condition at University Hospital-"

With a trembling hand, Nancy quickly switched off the radio. Her hands covered her quivering lips. Oh, Chloe…

And so Nancy stood now before her daughter's bedroom door, hoping - no - needing to check on her, before preparing breakfast and beginning the day's chores. She stared at the doorknob another minute, before she reached for it and let herself into her daughter's room.

"Chloe?" she said again, her voice soft and uncertain. She stepped toward the curled lump and sighed, when she saw her daughter's face.

Chloe slept on, bundled snugly in a pastel comforter and faced toward the center of her bed. Thank God, she's alright, Nancy silently prayed, remembering the list of yesterday's casualties. She reached out to smooth away the stray tendrils from her baby's face. How perfectly beautiful her daughter was. And how small and vulnerable she looked now.

So often Chloe appeared so much older, so much more poised and reserved for her age. Just in those eyes alone was wariness born of perseverance through mercilessly hardship. Hardship was the childhood Nancy had given her. Or had not given her, rather.

Nancy closed her eyes at the ever-present guilt. No matter how many truckloads of pretty clothes, posters, and trinkets she showered upon her daughter, nothing could ever really make it up to Chloe. Her daughter would never look to her as a mother, but always as a source of residual resentment. That was Nancy's punishment for what she'd done. Although it broke her heart, she would have to accept that.

But, oh, how she wished that Chloe would let her in now. So, Nancy could help her. Because Chloe needed her mother now more than ever.

Oh, her poor baby. Nancy sighed once more. A flutter of wings drew her eyes to the open window nearby. Nancy stood and walked over, as the curtains wafted a bit in the morning breeze. Outside she could see the branches of the large maple tree, which had grown lush and green in nurturing spring. She'd have to have the tree cut back, thought Nancy absently, before the thing pushed its way into the house. After taking a breath of the crisp morning air, she pulled down the window to a crack.

Who knows what might scurry in, she thought, before she left to begin her chores.

Nancy set the tray back down on the kitchen counter and fought the wave of foreboding. Belgian waffles generously topped with fresh strawberries, blueberries, and whipped cream. One of Chloe's favorites. Nancy's breath hitched. Her baby hadn't even glanced at it. Her eyes had been open, but Chloe was not awake. In her lilac cotton nightgown Chloe lay in bed, once again staring into space and once again clutching her teddy bear.

She couldn't stand by any longer, she thought, picking up the untouched plate of breakfast and tossing the colorful, depressing sight into the trash. Her daughter hadn't eaten for more than a day. She didn't respond nor move. Nancy set the dirty dish in the sink and wiped her hands, before she reached tremulously for the kitchen phone. Craig reported early this morning to the hospital, which needed all available hands on deck to recover from yesterday's traumas. And fend off the swarms of reporters feasting upon Salem.

Like vultures, the media circled then swooped into the little Midwest town. Drawn by the scent of blood and ensuing sensationalism. America's youth spiraling out of control. Film at eleven. In press conference, police officials cited that the assailant had presented the idea of shooting his aggressors to his friends and said that his friends should have come forward with the information. But most had shrugged off Andrew's comments as a joke. After all, kids like Andrew were passive and never fought back. They just curled into a ball and waited for the beating to be over.

"Andy was a good kid," his teachers and friends said, "He just got picked on a lot."

Hence, reformers shouted for changes in school policies in regards to intolerance and violence. Even the President added his two cents, dubbing the Salem incident "a cowardly act" and made another call for "family values." Of course, newshounds quickly descended upon his hometown of Shenandoah Valley, Virginia to investigate the beginnings of a fourteen-year-old mass murderer. Thus, the life and death of Andrew William Auerbach was analyzed and dissected for all the world to see, debate, and grieve.

Now, people cared. When there were headlines to be had, money to be made, and pain - other people's pain - to relish. Andrew would capture more attention dead than he ever did alive. Because somehow, only with someone's death did someone's life really matter. And therein lay the real tragedy.

Meanwhile, Salem High cancelled classes for the remainder of the week, the school and town reeling from shock. It wouldn't have mattered though, thought Nancy. Her daughter was in no condition to go anywhere.

Nancy began to dial the hospital's number. Craig would know what to do, whom to call. Her baby needed help. More help than her family could give.

The doorbell rang. Setting the phone down, Nancy sighed and closed her eyes, trying to collect herself. The doorbell rang again. If it was one more reporter, she'd give him something to write about. Raging mother dismembers reporter and hangs him by his own boom mic.

With such vengeful thoughts in mind, Nancy stalked to the door. She swung it open in full attack mode, as would a mother bear defending her defenseless cub. And came face to face with two other young cubs.

"Hi, Mrs. Wesley," said Belle, giving a weak smile.

"We came to see Chloe," added Mimi.

Nancy felt her eyes burn again. But returned a watery smile and gestured for the girls to come in. "I think you're exactly what Chloe needs right now."

"Man, you look like shit."

"Thanks," smiled Shawn wryly, as his buddies pulled up some chairs and sat beside his hospital bed. Shawn took a look at his friends' pale and tired expressions. "You two don't look much better."

"So, when're your parents springing you outta here?" asked Jason, stretching out his long legs in front of him.

"Tonight," replied Shawn, who was now conscious enough to fiddle with the peculiar heart monitor attached to his finger. "Gotta do the whole twenty-four hour thing, before the doc'll clear me."

"You and your thick skull," grinned Philip, inwardly relieved, after seeing for himself that his friend was alright. "Actually paid off this time."

"But I'm out for the season. Sorry, dudes," sighed Shawn.

"Nah," shrugged Jason, "Not like we needed you and your girly pitches in the first place."

Shawn and his friends could only chuckle. They all knew what a blessing this scene was, all three of them here, kidding around with each other, like always. They all knew that things could have been so very different.

Jason cleared his throat. "So, you hook up with some cute nurses or what?"

Shawn gave a genuine laugh.

Philip grinned, "We all know you already got your own personal candy striper."

Since he couldn't smugly lie on his back and whistle, Shawn merely grinned and said nothing.

His buddies exchanged a knowing look.

"Yeah," commented Jason, "Heard the nurses say something about finding a girl up on Shawn's bed this morning. Dude, I'm thinking about bonking myself on the head, if that's what it gets ya."

"Must be this getup," joked Shawn and looked down at his drafty hospital gown, "Ultimate turn-on for chicks."

Philip jovially shook his head and asked, "So, when did Belle leave, man?"

"Like an hour ago. Didn't listen to her parents or mine. So, her brother finally came and got her to go home and get some rest." Shawn exhaled and looked down at the bland hospital sheets. "It-All of it must've been really rough on her." When his friends didn't respond, he said, "I don't really remember any of it, and Belle and my folks don't really want to tell me about it, but… but I could tell it was pretty bad that day."

Philip looked to Jason and Jason looked to Philip. In their minds, Shawn was damn lucky. To not remember the most terrifying hours of their lives. Was it really their place to fill him in? Maybe it was better for him not to know. Then, they turned back to their friend and saw that entreaty in his eyes. Shawn wanted to know the truth and he could only expect it from his closest friends.

"Philip's gonna be putty in your hands, when he sees you," chirped Belle, as she skillfully French-braided Chloe's hair.

"Newsflash. The boy already is. If he got any puttier, we could pour him into a jar and call it a day." Mimi, in the meantime, added another layer of polish to Chloe's fingernails.

Their friend hadn't spoken a word, since they'd arrived. Neither had ever encountered someone in such a state, but they loved their friend and would try to get through to her that indeed she was safe and loved and that life went on. So, they leaned her against the headboard and began the age-old rituals of female gatherings. Gossip and beauty.

"Ooo, Meems," said Belle, after giving the tips of Chloe's braids one last brush, "Do you know what you're gonna wear for the Last Blast yet?"

Mimi's eyebrows rose. "Belle, that's like more than a month away. Besides, I think I should have a date first, before I decide to go."

"What?" Belle set incredulous hands at her hips. "This is the last dance of the year, not to mention your high school career. Of course, you'll go."

Mimi rolled her eyes. Belle the perpetual optimist. "Hello? Remember last year? I don't need a replay of that. Shawn's going to have one date this time around, namely you. Chloe here's gonna play with Mr. Putty. Right, girl?" Mimi nodded, as if Chloe replied. "Right. And me?" She waved the polish brush and looked up at the ceiling in self-pity. "I'll… I'll be at home bonding with my TV and a quart of rocky road."

"Or," grinned Belle, "You could be at the dance with a certain closet Shakespearean scholar…"

"Oh, boy." Mimi could only roll her eyes once more. "Here we go again."

Belle gave Chloe a playful elbow to the ribs. "We'd loved to know what happened that night at your house, you know, when you and Jason were supposedly 'studying.'"

"Could it have been, say, studying?" retorted Mimi with an arrogant sniff, "Since Chloe here so conveniently didn't make it…" She shot Chloe a look, "Don't think I'm not onto you, chickie," and grinned, when she saw Chloe's mouth twitch. "Jason and I went ahead and almost got to the last act."

"We bet you did," insinuated Belle and tossed Chloe a wicked wink. "Hey!" Belle laughed, when Mimi gave her a playful shove.

"Then, we heard this shot from the hall… then, the ambulance people came and we came with you to the hospital. And that's it," explained Jason.

Shawn sat up in bed now. He still couldn't believe that all of that'd happened. What his friends must have felt, as they stared down the barrel of a gun. Belle crying for him, afraid of the worst. Then, Shawn turned to Philip, who'd kept silent the entire time that Jason had relayed the story of that frightful morning. "So… how's Chloe, man?"

Philip rubbed his tired eyes in response and leaned over his knees to stare down at the floor.

Jason placed a brotherly hand on his shoulder. "She saved us, man. All of us… talking to him, like she did. She sure as hell saved my ass." Jason mentally shrugged off the memory of that very moment, when his life passed before his eyes. When he'd stared death in the face. Instead, he looked on, as Philip buried his face in his hands. "She's gonna be alright, Phil. Chloe's as tough as they come. Remember all that crap we pulled on her? Flicked us off like flies. She's gonna be alright."

"S-She told me about him," said Philip so softly at first, "She was telling me about this new kid that everybody was picking on." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "She said that this-this 'Andrew' guy reminded her of… when she first came to Salem. That she wanted to help him. Fucking bastard." He stood abruptly and looked around with his hands fisted, before he kicked at his chair, which toppled to the floor with a loud clatter.

"Phil-"

"Fucking bastard," he repeated, "She wanted to help him and this is what he did to her." Philip could still see her horrified eyes staring at Andrew's corpse. Her body sprayed with his blood.

His friends didn't know what to say. They only knew that when Philip's girl withdrew, she practically disappeared. And it scared the shit out of all of them. Because even though they'd all known Chloe for almost a year now, none of them could get her sometimes. None of them, except Phil. So, Phil scared them sometimes, as well, when he seemed to truly empathize with his girlfriend and his super-protective nature went into high gear.

"We're all gonna be there for her, Phil," assured Shawn, "And she'll pull out of it. Like Jase said, Chloe's tough. She's gonna be alright."

Shoulders slumped, Philip sighed then nodded.

A soft knock came to the door, before it opened and Belle and Mimi appeared in the doorway. "Hey, guys."

"Hey," smiled Shawn. Belle always made him smile, no matter how bad things were.

In an instant, she was in his arms, giving his scruffy cheek a kiss. "Hi. You're looking better already."

Shawn grinned, "Don't stop now. I could get used to this." His grin widened, when she gave his shoulder a modified smack. "Knew it was too good to be true."

"Ahem," mumbled Jason from behind, "Hello? We're still in the room."

"Like, for real," agreed Mimi.

The smitten couple meekly turned back to their friends.

Mimi stepped in and hugged Shawn, as well. "Hey, Shawn. How're you feeling?"

"Hey, Mimi," greeted Shawn, before he ever so subtly readjusted his hospital gown. Now that there were girls in the room, it wouldn't do to have his gown gape in the wrong places. "I'm feeling alright." He unconsciously touched his bandaged ear. The doctors had had to remove his earring temporarily just to be safe. "Where're you ladies coming from?"

"Just went to see Chloe," answered Belle, while she used her fingers to comb back his floppy hair.

"You saw Chloe?" asked Philip, his eyebrows drawn in worry.

"Yeah," replied Mimi, smiling hesitantly, when Jason righted Philip's vacated chair and offered her a seat. She sat down then exchanged a look with Belle. They all knew how sensitive this would be for Philip.

"Did she say anything to you?" asked Philip anxiously.

The girls exchanged another look.

"No," Belle slowly said, "She was sorta quiet, but she smiled and maybe even laughed a little, when we talked with her."

"Really?" Philip let out a sigh of relief. She'd laughed. That was definitely a good sign. "What'd you say to her?"

With that, Belle grinned, while Mimi blushed.

"Just, you know, girl talk," Mimi quickly said, shooting a look to Belle for silence.

"I think I'm gonna go check on her," said Philip. He gave his buddies their usual caveman handshakes.

"Try the door this time, K-Man," suggested Jason. He'd offer to go with him and buffer some of the Wesley disapproval. But he had a feeling ole Phil needed some private time with his girl. "Screw the rock throwing thing."

Philip sighed heavily, before he waved goodbye. "See you guys later."

"Later, Phil," said Shawn.

Then, Philip was gone.

"Rock throwing thing?" asked Mimi quizzically.

Jason shrugged.

Shawn looked back to Belle. "How is she, really?"

Belle looked to Mimi, who sighed in concern.

Philip stared at the Wesley doorway, drew in a big breath, and exhaled slowly. He'd dated Chloe for over nine months and for over nine months he'd avoided this door like the plague. Dr. and Mrs. Wesley hardly made their dislike of him a secret. Dr. Wesley had practically choked him to death on these very steps, after the truth about the bet had come out. Philip sighed at the memory. Even then, he could scarcely blame him. They all loved Chloe and would do anything to protect her.

But damn it, cursed Philip. Chloe was his, too.

He'd had to stand by that day and watch her hold out a hand to that maniac, who could've snapped at anytime and set loose on everyone, including Chloe. And he'd never felt so helpless and frantic. Because he could've lost her that day. In one irrevocable, cruel stroke of fate, he could've lost her. Even now, his heart twinged with the notion. How pointless everything would've been without her.

He'd watched her stand up before that freaking psycho and tried everything in her power to calm him down. Philip once thought her an angel. He knew now that it'd been nothing short of the truth. She'd placed herself in harm's way for the sake of everyone else. Even the people, who'd ridiculed her, when she'd been "Ghoul Girl." She'd protected all of them.

And this was her reward.

Philip twisted his whitened knuckles against his eyes. Wasn't it just like the world to be so unjust? It wasn't bad enough that Chloe'd had such a heartbreaking childhood or that she'd been the target of small-minded peers. Or that she had such a useless boyfriend.

Fighting back the tears of shame, Philip backed away from the door and leaned against the porch railing. He'd promised her. He'd promised her that he'd protect her, always.

"No one's ever going to hurt you again. I promise," he'd said to her.

He'd promised. He'd failed. He'd failed her, when that asshole Kevin put a mark on that beautiful face. And he'd failed her, when Andrew went on a shooting rampage then shot himself in the head right in front of her. With all the wealth, power, and status at his disposal, Philip fucking Kiriakis couldn't do a damn thing to protect the girl he loved.

Maybe the Wesleys were right. He didn't deserve Chloe.

Disgusted with himself, Philip mercilessly wiped away his tears. Enough of this pity party. Chloe needed him and by God he'd be there for her.

He set his shoulders, walked up to the door, and pushed the doorbell. He held his breath, until the sound of footsteps approached. Then, the door swung open and there stood the president of the Philip Kiriakis fan club herself.

Philip's stance stiffened. "Hello, Mrs. Wesley. I'm here to see Chloe."

Almost by reflex, Nancy's lips flattened into a contemptuous line. This boy. She'd expected that he'd show his face sooner or later. The headless chicken, the bet, the bruise on Chloe's cheek, and now this. Bad things always seemed to happen, whenever this boy was around. Oh, how she wished that her daughter would see that she was so much better than this boy. It didn't matter that he was a Kiriakis and probably had more money than God. He was not good enough for Chloe.

Someone cleared his throat. "Honey?"

Nancy looked up and focused on the figure that stood behind Philip on the porch. "Craig? W-What're are you doing back so soon?"

Craig waited for the unusually quiet Philip to sidestep a bit, so that the Wesleys could talk. "Just thought I'd come home for lunch and see how my ladies were doing."

Nancy bit on her bottom lip. "Oh, Craig. She still hasn't eaten a thing and hasn't spoken a word to anyone."

"Oh, honey." Craig stepped in and drew his distraught wife into his arms.

Philip watched with apprehension, as Mrs. Wesley cried. Oh God, Chloe, he thought.

"It'll be okay, Nanc'. She'll be alright. Shhh," soothed Craig.

Nancy sniffed against her husband's shirt.

Philip now grew uncomfortable watching such an intimate scene. And involving parents, no less. Double uncomfortable. Double weird.

"Philip."

The boy snapped to attention at the sound of Dr. Wesley's voice.

"Why don't you go on up to check on Chloe?" suggested Chloe's stepfather kindly.

Philip's eyes widened in shock.

As did Nancy's. "But Craig-"

Craig ran his hands up and down her back in reassurance. "It might do Chloe some good to see her boyfriend." He pulled out a handkerchief and dried the tears himself. "It'll be alright, honey."

Nancy frowned but reminded herself that Chloe was first priority here. She finally nodded. "It-It's the second door on the left."

Philip already knew that, but was smart enough to keep that little tidbit to himself. He nodded and headed up the steps. When he reached the landing and moved out of view from the foyer, he let out a sigh of relief. He was here with Dr. Wesley's blessing. Whoa. He hadn't thought he'd live to see the day.

He came to her bedroom door and knocked softly. "Chloe? It's Philip. You decent?" he said shakily, trying for a joke. "No? Then, I'm coming in…"

Finally, he turned the knob and let himself in.

There, in a breezy yellow sundress and hair in braids, Chloe sat on the edge of her bed, staring out the window. Their window. Her face was still without make-up and her feet were bare, but the fresh nail polish and cute hairstyle was obviously a sign of Belle and Mimi's earlier visit.

He closed the door behind him and walked over to sit beside her on the bed. Then, he laid a tender kiss on her cheek. "Hey, beautiful. I gotta tell ya, coming into your room through an actual door is pretty weird. The risk factor and adrenaline rush is about the same, though. So, I'm good." He ran a hand over the neatly braided hair. "Belle and Mimi told me that they came over to see you today. Said you guys laughed about something together. Hmmm…" He tapped the hollow of his cheek. "Let me guess. It's about guys, right?" He watched a wayward strand of hair dance in the breeze. "Figured as much. I know you chicks and your conspiring little ways. Plus, it was written all over their faces. Bet you guys are still trying to snag ole Jase for Mimi, huh?" He kissed one silky shoulder. "It won't take much. That's all I'm gonna say," he grinned.

Chloe's eyes fluttered, as a bird sang from a high branch outside her window. For several moments, Philip was content just to watch her take in the chirpy notes. Then, he caught sight of the food tray on her desk, bedecked with blue linen and a pretty yellow daisy. He remembered Mrs. Wesley crying downstairs and rose, as if to take a closer look.

"Hey, Wesley grub. Doesn't look too bad." He glanced back at Chloe with what he hoped was an easy smile. "I guess, when I get invited to dinner, I can count on the food to be good, right?" Chloe squinted, as the sun peeked through the puffy cumulus clouds. Philip tilted his head. "Hmmm, smells pretty good, too. You mind, if I sneak a taste?"

Philip set aside the delicate porcelain cover and dipped a spoon into the light green soup. His family chef was French. He was used to things being weird colors. So, he dabbed a bit on his tongue and swallowed.

"Not bad. Looks like Cook might have some competition. But don't tell him I said that, ok? He'd have my hide, if he knew I was partaking elsewhere." He set the spoon back down and carried the tray with him, as he settled beside Chloe again. "Seriously, this is some pretty good stuff. But maybe you should have a taste, too… you know, in the spirit of taste test fairness." He reached out to run a gentle thumb over her lips. "Right, beautiful?"

She sighed, as her lips quivered under his touch.

"Come on, Chloe. Can't hold out for that New York hot dog forever," he joked. His heart sank, when she didn't seem to even crack a semblance of a smile. "Chloe?" He pressed his lips to her cheek and closed his eyes, desperately trying to stay sane. "Baby, please. We'll share it, ok?" he whispered, "We'll share everything."

The movement was so small that he thought he imagined it. He drew back to look at her.

"Chloe?"

There it was. She gave a small but clear nod.

Blinking away relieved tears, he took a small spoon of creamy soup and cautiously rubbed a bit over her lip. Gradually, her tongue swept across her lip and she swallowed. He nearly leapt with joy. He took another spoonful and repeated the process. Eventually, she nearly finished the bowl with a little help from Philip.

Philip set the tray aside and smiled proudly, "What'd I tell you? Pretty good stuff, huh? You think, you're gonna cook as good as your mom?" He dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin. "Because if you're looking to me to cook, we're screwed. I burn water…"

His hand stilled, when a corner of her mouth twitched. Or was it his ever hopeful imagination?

"Seriously, Cook came at me with a rolling pin, when I melted one of his saucepans. Let me tell ya, French wasn't so pretty that day."

Her lips curved and bloomed into a smile. There was no mistaking it now. And it took his breath away. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. At that moment, he felt like Hercules.

Outside, Craig pulled his ear from the door and allowed himself a small smile, before he walked back downstairs to finish his lunch.