“The police are here, but my dad’s out of town. He can’t catch a flight until tomorrow morning. I don’t want to stay alone.”
Chris said, “My aunt’s on her way up. I could ask her to pick you up. She has to go through town on her way.”
“You think she would? I’m really creeped out. I saw him.”
Chris said, “Was he wearing a hood and a long coat?”
“How’d you know?”
“He’s the one who stabbed my dad. Right before that, he splashed paint on the truck.”
Hope’s voice cracked, “I don’t think it was paint.”
He hadn’t thought of it. Blood on the truck. He’d been too worried about his dad. “They won’t leave you alone, will they?”
“I’ll tell them I’m getting picked up.”
“Let me call my aunt. I’ll meet you in the lobby. We’re at Mercy.”
“You’re a sweetheart,” she said.
His face flushed a little at that. “I’m glad you’re okay. See you soon.”
O’Bannon got home to find his pizza cold and his beer warm. The Mets had blown it in the ninth inning, giving up three runs. That had been some weird shit out at the morgue; he and Rogowski had agreed not to talk about it. The doc had agreed to let it go. If anyone came to claim Harwell’s body, it was going to be officially labeled “mishandled.” Although losing a corpse wasn’t exactly like losing a sock in the wash.
He took the leftover pizza and stuck it in the fridge. Dumped the remainder of his beer down the drain. He contemplated getting a fresh beer and decided he was in need of refreshment. From the fridge he pulled a bottle of Bud. He grabbed the bottle opener from the drawer and popped the top. Took a long swallow. Tasted good.
He took a seat at the kitchen table. The house wasn’t big, but it was neat and clean. The landlord had painted everything before O’Bannon moved in, plus he gave Frank a good deal on the rent. O’Bannon suspected it was because he’d chased off some bullies who were threatening the landlord’s daughter. Whatever the reason, it was cheap and he liked it.
O’Bannon had a view of the neighbor’s backyard, the guy’s Mustang cloaked in shadow.
That son-of-a-bitch would be out there revving the damn engine on Saturday morning, like he did every week. One of these days O’Bannon was going to hand him a ticket for violating noise regulations.
He spotted someone moving in the shadows. They slipped past the car and around the garage. O’Bannon wasn’t sure, but the guy looked like he was wearing very little clothing. What the hell?
O’Bannon watched the yard for a few minutes, finished his beer, and convinced himself he was seeing things.
Still, he got up and made sure the doors were locked. Then he rinsed out his beer bottle and decided to hit the sack.
Eleven
His Aunt Megan was pretty cool. Her hair was currently dyed somewhere between purple and blue. She had a full sleeve of horror tattoos. She was a writer who’d scored a big deal for a series of YA dystopian fiction. On the side, she did artwork for tattoo shops. She was ten years younger than Dad, and he never seemed to approve of his younger sister’s choice of vocation.
It was no surprise that she’d picked Hope up without giving it a second thought. She just did those kind of things.
Now, they were seated in the surgical waiting room sipping Tim Horton’s coffees.
While he’d waited for his aunt to arrive, the red-haired nurse had told him Dad still had a way to go.
The waiting room door opened and a doctor with white curly hair entered. He was wearing surgical scrubs and had red Crocs on his feet.
He introduced himself as Dr. Cowell.
“How is he?” Chris asked.
“We had to take out a section of his stomach. It was damaged by the knife. We’ll have to watch him for infection and internal bleeding, but I think he’ll pull through. He’s in recovery now. The nurse will come get you when he’s up for a visitor.”
Aunt Megan said, “Thanks Doc.”
The doctor left the waiting room.
“I’ll come stay with you,” Aunt Megan said. “Hope, you can stay overnight.”
“Thanks. I don’t want to stay alone tonight.”
Hope had told the story of the intruder leaving the symbol in the house. The cops had asked her a bunch of questions, but she really couldn’t tell them much. She had thought the cops were out looking for the guy right now.
“We’ll go see your dad, then head home,” Aunt Megan said. “You guys hungry?”
Chris found that his stomach was growling, despite everything that had happened. “Actually, yeah.”
“I’ll get you guys McDonald’s on the way home.”
The red haired nurse, seated at the desk, picked up a phone receiver. She said okay and hung up. “You can go see him now.”
Chris fought back some tears.
His dad had a tube going in his nose. Another tube snaked out from under the blankets into a catheter bag. His eyes were half-open. Chris wasn’t used to seeing him like this. He was supposed to be fiddling around under the hood of a car, hands full of grease, a wrench poking from his back pocket.
“Megan. Thanks for coming,” he said, barely above a whisper.
“You had me worried, Dad.”
“Takes more than this to kill me. They catch him?”
“No. I think he tried to attack Hope, too.”
“You okay kid?” Dad said.
Hope nodded. “He didn’t get near me.”
A nurse popped in and checked Dad’s catheter bag. She also adjusted the pump that was dispensing his pain meds. “Just a few more minutes, folks. We’re moving him to ICU.”
“Is that bad?” Chris said.
“Standard. Once he’s a little stronger, we’ll move
