Laurell Hamilton - Affliction

I nodded, because I knew the essay. It was from ‘On Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs,’ from Lt. Col. David Grossman’s book On Combat . ‘We live to protect the flock, and confront the wolf,’ I said.

He nodded and gave that flash of teeth again. It left his eyes cold. ‘We do that. I’m Commander Walter Burke, Marshal Blake, and I’m sorry to meet you and Mr Callahan under the circumstances.’

‘Me, too,’ I said.

He turned to Aunt Bertie and Uncle Jamie. ‘Now, some of these nice officers are going to escort you down to the rest of the family.’

‘We can’t let them see Rush by themselves. He’s already been attacked by one monster,’ Bertie said.

Commander Burke let out a deep breath and said, ‘Deputy Gutterman, Corporal Price, escort these two downstairs to the family lounge. If they resist, charge them with assaulting a police officer.’

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ Jamie said.

Burke turned and let Jamie see his eyes, his face, his attitude, and like a good sheep the other man backed down. ‘You’re leaving this boy alone to see his father, one way or the other. It’s your choice whether you do it in the family lounge or in the back of a police car.’

It was all I could do not to say out loud, Choose wisely .

They chose wisely and went with the nice police officers to the family lounge, which meant we’d be seeing them later. That was going to suck.

Burke looked at us. ‘I’m sorry that your relatives are going to make this harder than it already is, Mr Callahan, Marshal Blake.’ He glanced at Nathaniel’s hand in mine.

‘Mr Graison,’ I said.

‘Mr Graison,’ he said. He looked at Nicky and Dev behind us. ‘I’m sorry you can’t come to visit your father in the hospital without bodyguards, but if that’s your aunt and uncle, I’d hate like hell to see what strangers would do.’

Micah nodded. ‘Thank you, Commander Burke. I appreciate that.’

‘You’re the son of a good cop and engaged to a U.S. Marshal; that makes you family. Now go see your father, and I am sorry that you had to come home to this.’

I wondered if he meant Rush Callahan being hurt or the crazy aunt and uncle? I guess it didn’t matter; either way, not everyone in Colorado hated us. Good to know.

Micah had told me his dad was five foot six, but he looked smaller in the hospital bed. His hair was auburn, but whereas Nathaniel’s hair was a rich brown with red undertones that sometimes you noticed and sometimes you didn’t, Rush Callahan’s hair was more dark red with brown undertones in it. I wondered if he’d say he had red hair? I hoped he’d wake up enough for me to ask. Right now, his face held that slackness that only heavy drugs can give it; even sleep doesn’t smooth out the face in quite the same way as heavy-duty painkillers. His skin was pasty pale, so that the few freckles he had stood out like brown ink spots, but underneath the much lighter skin tone and hair the bone structure was Micah’s. Micah was so delicate for a man that I’d just assumed he looked like his mother, but he didn’t. He looked like his dad. The biggest difference, other than the faint lines around the eyes and across the forehead, was the mouth. Micah’s lips were fuller, more kissable looking. His father had thinner lips, more traditionally Caucasian male. I realized that almost every man in my life had full lips. I guess we all have preferences in partners that we aren’t even aware of ourselves. Micah’s father’s hair was almost as curly as Micah’s, though cut a lot shorter. But his dad’s reddish auburn curls haloed around his face in a thick circle. His curl was looser than Micah’s, or mine, but it was curlier than Cousin Juliet’s. She was waiting out in the hallway. She’d wanted to give Micah some privacy, and she’d said out loud that she’d try to head off any relatives so the privacy would last longer. I think she wanted Micah to have a few minutes before he had to deal with any more awfulness from his family. Uncle Jamie and Aunt Bertie had been enough for one visit, though we’d probably be seeing them again, unfortunately.

Micah said, ‘That’s weird.’

There were so many possibilities for weirdness in that moment that it felt odd to ask, ‘What’s weird?’ But sometimes you have to ask the obvious question.

‘Mom used to help him with his hair, but once they divorced he cut it short because he couldn’t deal with the curls. I haven’t seen his hair like this since the year I was twelve. He must have a new girlfriend, or something, and I’ve never even met her.’ The sorrow in his voice was nearly touchable, but since I couldn’t touch his sadness I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him. His arm came around me almost automatically, his eyes staring down at the man in the bed. He’d put his sunglasses in their slim case that rode in the breast pocket of his suit jacket the way other people carried reading glasses. He stared down at his father with eyes that would be a stranger’s eyes in his son’s face. Like the mystery girlfriend who helped with curls, there would be a lot of catching up to do. I prayed that they’d get the chance to share all of it.

The room was dim, most of the light from the glow of one lamp near the bed. The drapes were drawn against the night, and the small beep of the monitors that let the nurses’ station know Mr Callahan was still alive seemed loud in the silence.

Nathaniel came up behind us and put his hand on Micah’s shoulder, because there wasn’t room for both of us to hug him at once. Micah put up his free hand to cover Nathaniel’s hand. There are pains too deep for words, but there’s touch to say what words can’t.

‘Can you both smell it?’ Micah asked.

Neither of us had to ask what he meant. Even with my human nose I could smell it: sickly sweet, but with a sourness underneath, so sweet seems the wrong word, but rotting flesh does have a sweet undertone to the smell of it. I’d spent most of my adult life smelling it at crime scenes and zombie raisings, though oddly the zombies that I raised didn’t smell as bad as some. The amount of smell seemed to get worse the lower the power level of your animator. My early zombies had looked rotted, but they hadn’t smelled that way. I’d seen other zombies raised that smelled as bad as a real corpse. The white sheet was raised on a framework so that it didn’t touch Rush Callahan’s body, like they do with some burn victims. Whatever wound was underneath that white, untouched dome of sheet had a faint scent of rot, like a preview of the corpse to come.

I swallowed hard; my throat was tight, and it wasn’t because I was going to be sick. I’d smelled much worse. It was almost as if Micah were keeping such tight control on himself that someone had to cry for him. But damned if it was going to be me; I was here to be strong for him, not to be the first one to cry. I would not be this much of a girl, damn it!

Standing in that room with the smell of death already there, I hugged him tighter, because I didn’t know what else to do. He rested his face against my hair and hugged me back. Nathaniel came in at our back, wrapping his free arm around me so that he could cuddle himself against Micah’s back and touch us both.

There was a soft but authoritative knock on the door. It opened without our saying Come in , and in came a tall, thin man in a long white coat. He flashed a professional smile as he came through, cheerful and empty of meaning, because it makes people feel better when you smile. I knew the smile, because I had a client smile, too, and it meant about as much. You smile, because if you don’t people worry more. He was a doctor, and people worried enough around him, so he smiled.