Linwood Barclay - Parting Shot

They all saw what had been done to him at the same moment, and there was a collective gasp.

“Oh dear God,” said his mother.

“What is that?” Monica asked. “Is that actually tattooed on there?”

“That’s what they say,” Brian said.

“Jesus,” said Albert. He reached out tentatively and touched the words SICK FUCK.

“Why would someone do that because of a dog?” asked Monica.

“Huh?” said Brian.

“Remember Mrs. Beecham’s dog?” she said.

Brian struggled to remember. “Oh, shit, yeah, the one I ran over.”

“She slashed our tires,” Albert recalled.

“You’d never confront her,” Constance said. “You never said a word to that awful woman.”

“There was no way to prove it,” he said. “It wasn’t like I got her on video or anything.”

Brian said, “Seems like a long time to hold a grudge about running over somebody’s dog.”

“This would never have happened if you hadn’t moved out,” Constance said. “I knew that was a mistake.”

“It really didn’t have anything to do with that,” Brian said.

Monica was still gazing at the tattoo, lightly touching the other words, just as her father had touched SICK FUCK. “Who was it, Brian? Who did this? I don’t think Mrs. Beecham could have done it. I mean, she’s an old lady.”

“I don’t know. I was asleep through all of it.” He rolled onto his back again. His lip started to tremble. “I’m glad you guys came.”

“Of course,” Constance said. “We came as soon as that police detective told us. When you get out of the hospital, you’re coming back to stay with us. Your room is just sitting there.”

Brian looked at his father. “I don’t know. I was doing okay on my own.”

“Oh, right,” his mother said. “And look at you now.”

Albert’s neck muscles had stiffened, and his face was turning red. “You wanna move home, that’s fine. But you went to Knight’s all the time, right? Even before you moved out.”

“Dad’s right,” Brian said. “This hasn’t got nothing to do with my leaving home.”

“What’s the doctor say?” Albert asked. “Can they get that mess off you?”

Brian shook his head. “What they’re worried about is, like, an infection.”

“What?” said his mother.

“They gotta do tests, in case, like, I’ve got hepatitis or something.”

“Dear Lord,” Constance said.

“Shit,” Monica said.

Albert slipped around to the other side of the curtain. His legs were briefly visible, and then he walked away.

“What’s with him?” Brian asked.

“He feels bad, and so he should,” Constance said.

Monica shook her head. “Jesus, Mom, don’t lay all this on Dad. He was right, wanting Brian to be on his own. It’s not like he forced him to move out. He put it out there, and Brian liked the idea.” She looked at her brother. “Am I right?”

“Pretty much,” he said.

Monica continued. “ I want to be on my own, soon as I can. If something happens to me, will that be Dad’s fault too?”

“You always take your father’s side,” Constance said.

“Oh God, here we go.”

“You do.”

“There’s no sides here,” Monica said.

Brian’s eyes went back and forth between them. He said, “You think you guys could take it outside?”

Constance put her hand on his. “These tests are going to turn out just fine, I know they are.”

“I’m gonna find Dad,” Monica said, whisking back the curtain and disappearing.

Monica returned to the ER waiting room, but he wasn’t there. She wondered if he had gone back to the car. But then she spotted him down a hallway, sitting in a plastic chair, elbows propped on his knees, his head in his hands.

She strode up the hall and sat down next to him abruptly.

“Hey,” she said.

When he took his hands from his face and looked at her, she saw that he had been crying.

“Maybe your mother is right,” he said. “I pressured him to leave.”

“Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do? Make kids independent? And I just told her, you never forced him to go. You gave him the choice to go. He wanted to see if he could manage on his own.”

Albert smiled thinly at his daughter. “I guess. But your mother didn’t think he was ready.”

“He’d never have been more ready,” Monica said. “Yeah, maybe Brian’s a bit naïve. Sometimes people take advantage of him. But he’s a good soul, and it’s not like you guys are going to live forever. Sooner or later he’d have to fend for himself.”

“That’s what I kept saying.” He looked down at his hands again. “It’s like he’s been vandalized, you know?” The tears started to come again.

“Yeah,” Monica said.

“Some fucking bastard has disfigured him for life.” He paused. “I have to make this right.”

“How you going to do that?”

“I don’t know. I want to know who did this to him. Whoever it was, I want to look him in the eye and ask how he could do it.”

“That’s kinda not your thing, Dad.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. Taking people on. You’re kind of — and don’t get mad when I say this — but you’re kind of where Brian gets it from. You don’t return things to the store when they break down, you never send back your steak even when they do it wrong, you always let the other guy cut in and take the parking spot you had dibs on.”

“I save my anger for the fights that matter,” he said. “No sense getting killed over a parking spot.”

“Oh, Dad.” She leaned into him. “I mean, come on, if you were going to confront someone, you could start with Mom.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to go along,” he said.

“You can’t always do that,” his daughter said.

He looked at her. “You’re tough.”

“You can be too,” she said.

Albert paused. “I have to make it right with Brian. I have to do something.”

“Yeah, well, the police are looking into it now.”

Albert went very quiet. Monica slipped an arm around him, patted his far shoulder. “I love you, Dad.”

He said nothing.

At the far end of the hall, Constance appeared. She walked briskly in their direction.

“There you are,” she said. “I was looking all over.”

“What’s happening?” Monica asked.

“Nothing. I just wanted to know what happened to you two.”

“We’re talking,” Monica said.

Constance said, “I want to speak to that policeman again. What was his name?”

“Duckworth,” Monica said. “I think.”

Albert stood, took a moment, then walked past his wife without looking at her.

“And just where are you going?”

“I’m going to see my son,” he said without looking back.

“Yes, you should do that,” she snapped.

When Albert got back to the ward attached to the ER and found his son’s curtained examining room, he paused for a moment.

Steeled himself.

He whisked back the curtain.

The bed was empty. Brian’s clothes, which had been on the chair, were gone.

Albert went to the nurses’ station a few steps away and asked whether his son had been moved to a room or taken somewhere for tests.

“I think I just saw him walk by,” the nurse said. “Far as I know, he hasn’t been discharged. But come to think of it, he was all dressed.”

Albert ran down to the ER, then out through the sliding glass doors to the bay where the ambulances pulled up.

There was no sign of Brian.

His son was gone.

Barry Duckworth sent a text to his son Trevor: Need to see you .

He hit Send and stared at the phone for the better part of a minute, waiting to see whether Trevor would respond right away. Sometimes, when Barry sent him a message, Trevor got back immediately. But just as often, he could take an hour or two, or even into the next day, to reply. Of course, it was less of an issue now that he was living with them. Sometimes Duckworth would see his son in person and simply ask him what he wanted to know. To Trevor’s credit, Duckworth thought, he was not a slave to his phone the way some people were. He often muted it and didn’t check for messages of any kind until the end of the day.