“You know each other?” John’s father asked the detective, echoing John’s thoughts.
“Yeah, David Miller is a lawyer at a legal clinic in Brooklyn. We’ve crossed paths a number of times on cases. OK, so from what you told me earlier, we have some time to talk now?”
“They won’t let me see John until tomorrow morning. Something about him being post-op and in a coma, requiring total rest, no distractions.” John’s father’s eyes watered, and John felt a deepening of the despair he had felt earlier. At this moment he couldn’t imagine feeling any more alone than he did now. His legs seemed to weaken and he reached out to grab hold of the backrest of one of the chairs in the waiting area to steady himself. Remembering what the spirit of the old man had told him, he focused on his hand interacting with the surface and, in doing so, he was able to grab hold of the backrest and lower himself to sit in the corner of the room.
As John looked at his father’s distraught face, the voices around them faded into the background and he recalled their last meal together. His father had been so busy setting up his new property development venture in New York that they hadn’t had the chance to properly celebrate their move to the city until two nights ago. They had gone to Patterson’s, a proper, old-school steakhouse oozing with history from the nineteenth century and located in the Meatpacking District. It had been a real father and son moment, a kind of rite of passage and a fitting welcome to the Big Apple. The memories of his father’s excited tones that evening now seemed to blend in and out with what John was hearing in the waiting room. As he felt exhaustion taking hold, he heard his father passionately vowing to find the knife attacker, and Jim Donovan’s voice expressing words of support. John caught a few more words, now undecipherable, before he could no longer stay awake. His glow dimmed, and he felt the stress that had gripped him slacken.
Lying still with her eyes closed, Jennifer looked calm and at rest. On the inside, however, her mind was desperately trying to piece together the events of the previous evening.
In her memory, she was transported to the moment when she and John had entered O’Donnell’s—the spirited conversation, the crush of bodies along the bar, laughter and music filling the air, the distinct odor of yeasty, dark ales and musty upholstery. Not unpleasant, but distinctly different to most bars. To her surprise, she and John had been immediately welcomed by a large, bald man with a smile that she couldn’t help feeling was disingenuous. He introduced himself as Jim Donovan, the proprietor and a family friend who was willing to ignore that they were underage.
Anyone other than John, who had known Jennifer ever since he had started school in New York three months ago, would have balked at the idea of her even being there. She adopted a nerdy persona at school, and academically speaking, she was more than qualified to do so. It provided convenient cover and meant that she was left alone by the one-track, simple-minded jocks she detested. That had left only the shy guys, stoners and real nerds to choose from, and they all failed in her book for a variety of reasons. Until she met John, she had never been able to find someone with whom she could be herself. His default state seemed to be contentment, and he was witty and superbly confident. She had been taken entirely by surprise at how effortlessly and amusingly he had won her affection. In fact, she was damn near to falling for him—something she didn’t do lightly.
Sometime later that evening as they sat in one of the wooden booths, the music from the speakers had quietened, and Jim Donovan had introduced a band named The Hedonists––a group of three boys and one girl, all in their early twenties and dressed in ripped black jeans and black shirts. The tallest boy, who had an electric guitar hanging from his chest, walked up to the microphone and, without saying a word, started to slowly strum a melody while singing a gentle ballad. The rhythm quickly gathered speed and the drums then kicked in. At the foot of the stage, a crowd had gathered and were exchanging looks of enthusiasm.
The lead singer finished the first verse and paused while the rest of the band kept the beat going as background to his words of welcome and introduction. He mentioned the group was short of their brilliant bass guitarist but, by some great stroke of luck, he had just been spotted in the audience! And at that, the singer had pointed to John, who gave Jennifer a wink as he got up to make his way to the stage.
Jennifer had realized that the band had planned all of this, but it was still kind of cool. As soon as John had set up his own guitar, which was sitting ready for him at the back of the stage, the band broke from the repetitive beat and blasted back to the song with a crash of drums and a new bass line—played by John. She looked on, dazzled.
After a few more numbers, Jennifer watched as the crowd formed into pairs and danced to what she assumed was an Irish jig. Distracted, she didn’t notice John stepping off the stage. She became aware of his absence only when he appeared in the dancing crowd, hand outstretched
