“Are you ok?How do you feel?” I say, hugging him gently.
He nods and ina croaky low voice says, “Ok.”
His eyes areglassy and his face is pale and drawn. The large bandage on hishead has been replaced by a strip of gauze with tape above oneeye.
I take off myjacket and put it on the back of the small chair beside his bed.Then, I go to his bathroom and splash cold water on my face tryingto wash off any signs of the trauma I’ve just experienced.
When I get backto his bed, I sit down and hold his hand.
“Are you doingok?” he strains to say.
I don’t believeit, my dad has been in critical condition, and he’s worried how I’mdoing? He really does love me and seeing him in that coma, Irealized just how much I love him too.
In a slowvoice, he asks how my work is going and how things are betweenKatie and I. I tell him that work is fine and that Katie and I aredoing great. I know if I tell him the truth about everything, he’llspend his time worrying, and he needs his energy to get better. Ikeep everything we talk about upbeat and positive. My dad starts totalk about a TV program he watched this morning, but because of howdraining it is for him to speak he starts to nod off. This is mycue to leave and let him rest.
When I leavethe hospital, I look up at the sky and thank God for theimprovements my father has made. Just a couple of days ago, Iwasn’t so sure he would make it.
Instead ofturning in the direction of Katie’s, I walk toward Yaletown. Nowthat Dad is showing signs of improvement, being at the scene of thecrime won’t feel as morbid.
I finallyarrive at the apartment. My hands are freezing and my cheeks arenumb. In the lobby, I walk past the security guards beside theelevators. Then, it occurs to me…since my dad was hurt, I neverasked the guard if he saw the men on his cameras that night. Idouble back and walk up to the desk. The same burly man that Jasonintroduced me to is sitting behind the counter reading a newspaper.He looks up when I clear my throat to get his attention.
“Can I helpyou?” he asks.
I explain who Iam and which apartment I’m from. He nods and then says that heremembers meeting me before. That’s good. If he recognizes me,he’ll be more apt to tell me what I want to know.
“My father wasbeaten by two men in the apartment recently. The ambulance wascalled and…”
“If you’regoing to ask me if I saw anything, I’ll tell you what I told thecops, I was away from my desk when the men entered the building. Ialready provided a police officer with the recording of the men inthe elevator and in the hallway.”
“Oh. That’sgreat. I wasn’t aware that you had been questioned already.”
He nods.
“Do you thinkthat I might be able to see the video clip? I know you’re reallybusy,” I say semi-sarcastically, “but it would mean a lot tome.”
“He looks atme, ponderingly then takes a big breath and sighs, “Alright. Iguess so. But this is the last time I’m going to find theclip.”
“I completelyunderstand.”
I wait whilethe guard taps away on the keyboard in front of him. As he watchesthe screen, his expression reveals the inconvenience of myrequest.
After a fewlong minutes of having to listen to him exhale in protest, his eyeslight up, “I found it. I found the clip. You’ll have to walk aroundto this side of the counter to see it,” he says, opening thecounter door. I walk in and stand beside him in front of thecomputer. He hits a button and the clip starts. Two bulky men areon the intercom. Next, they enter the building and walk through thelobby. There’s no clear image of their faces yet.
Next, they stepinto an elevator and talk to each other. I strain to catch a goodglimpse of their faces, but all I am seeing are the tops of theirheads. Shit! This isn’t helpful at all. Then, when the elevatordoor opens, the biggest brute of the two looks up and directly intothe camera. His eyes seem to come right through the computer screenand stare into me. It’s Tank. I don’t fucking believe it. Thatterrible piece of shit.
I step back andtake a deep breath. I feel heat rise up through my chest all theway up to my face. My cheeks burn from the inside, as I fill withrage. He will pay for this! I don’t care what it takes, he willpay.
“Now can I goback to reading my paper?” The guard asks.
I thank him,walk out, then take the elevator upstairs.
* * *
In the suite,I’m so mad that any apprehension I felt about being here is gone. Idon’t feel victimized and sad over Fournier’s cronies hurting mydad anymore. All those feelings have been replaced with a sensationof power and vengeance. I quickly get to work, wiping my father’sblood off the hallway floor. When I’m done, I go into the guestroom where I found him bleeding on the floor and clean up everytrace of blood. After I’m finished, I throw the bloody towel awaythat Dad used under his head, and I sit down on the sofa, evenangrier than before.
My family hadmarks against them from the beginning. We were not like most otherfamilies. Everything we had, we scraped and saved for, even ourbeds. Some days, we went hungry and some, we didn’t have heat inour apartment. The things that I got from being raised rough thatmost people out there didn’t, are perseverance anddetermination.
While I showerand get the sweat off me, I hear my cell ringing from the livingroom. A part of me is excited at the possibility that it’s Katiecalling, while another part of me hopes it isn’t. I like her a lot,even love her - and until I figure out a plan of how to deal withFournier, she won’t be safe if she has any involvement with me.Instead of ignoring her and hoping she’ll go away, I need to talkto her face
