Chapter 19—Outburst
“Mark! Get down here!”
When Mark had first arrived at the rich loft that towered over the city, he’d found nothing displeasing to his eye. The view was magnificent, and he fancied himself a king standing in his palace, lording it over his subjects far below. Every whim was met and anything he wanted was his.
However, one malignant spot had squatted itself on the perfect picture over the past few days: his father. Although the scenery was very pleasant and Mark’s life was much improved, that one aspect soured the experience. It was nothing new to him, as his dad was merely another part of his former life that he’d rather put behind him. Gene contrasted sharply with his life now and Mark couldn’t stand it much longer. He desired to hear from his mother, but Rooke had so far only been able to reach her voicemail.
“Mark!”
He heaved a large sigh and trotted downstairs. Waiting at the front door was his father, arms crossed like always, and Rooke. Something seemed off about Mark’s employer, who was ending a conversation on his cell phone. Rooke was jittery and obsessed with his watch, giving brief “Uh-huhs” thrown in with a “Yes” or two to whomever he was talking to.
“Ready to start your first day?” he asked Mark, pocketing his phone. This morning he sounded rushed, compared to his call last night, when he’d told Mark to “prepare to work tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Mark said. “Do I need anything?”
“No, no.” Rooke shoved him out the door. “Just you.”
Mark looked at his father. Gene gave him a hard, cold glare that clearly said, “Don’t screw this up.”
Rooke shut Mark’s door and hammered on the one across the hall. “Finster! You had better be up!” he shouted. “You can’t be late today!”
Heather walked out of the adjacent room, hair tousled, and smacking her lips. Her scarf was tied on haphazardly. She teetered from one side to the other and leaned against the wall for support. “He gets ready quickly. You know that.”
“Make sure he does. We have to leave now.” Rooke checked his watch and bit his lip. “We’re already late.” He appraised Heather’s sloppy appearance with a disapproving face. “You need to get ready, too.”
“What’s got you in a twist this morning?”
“Heather, don’t start. I have a lot on my plate today.” Rooke pounded Finster’s door again. He stopped and gritted his teeth. Then he rounded on Heather and jerked his thumb at the door. “Make sure he’s at the office on time.”
“I will. After I have some coffee.” She sauntered back into her room and kicked the door shut. Rooke hit Finster’s door once more, growled, and hurried Mark along.
Mark had planned to ask Rooke if he had reached his mother and if she was safe, but after this display, he stifled his questions. He followed along quietly, running when he was told he was moving too slowly down the halls.
Outside the building, the valet pulled a classic black sedan up to the curb and handed the keys to Rooke. He and Mark climbed in and zipped down the street, the powerful engine telling all cars to move aside.
It was a nice sedan and Mark adored it. To him, it looked like a mob car, complete with suicide doors. He ran his fingers over the beige leather seats. The new lifestyle continued to impress him and he was sure he could learn to live in it. He wondered if he could own a car like Rooke’s soon.
Right away, Mark realized they were not heading to Rooke Pharmaceuticals. The car was driving away from the inner city. Busy restaurants and mom ’n’ pop stores crowded between office buildings faded and apartments faded into stores, outpatient clinics, and residential areas. These, too, soon gave way to expansive space, small neighborhoods, and houses set apart from one another. Straight roads twisted and curved around and under trees. They wound up in the upscale area of luxury houses. Mark knew of this part of the city but had never visited there. It was a district where many retirees and the wealthy lived in secluded comfort, isolated from the hustle and bustle of the main city. The large properties with expansive fields were quite a change for Mark, who was used to tidy little suburbs.
“We have to make a quick stop,” Rooke said. He offered no further explanation as he eased the car into a semicircle driveway. Mark gawked at the old blue-gray building before them. It was a large, Southern-style home that was just short of grandiose. Hidden behind its gated driveway, the house played hide-and-seek with its neighbors’ houses behind tall and ample vegetation. The garage to the side sheltered a soft-white car that looked like someone had driven it off an old movie set.
A garish orange car was parked out front, the only odd piece that stuck out horribly. Rooke stopped behind it and motioned to Mark to step out of the car. Together they marched up the wooden steps to the front door. Rooke retrieved a single key from his pocket and unlocked the door. He swept in, hunched over and on the prowl, searching out the inhabitants of the house.
Mark wasn’t prepared for the interior. The foyer was massive and covered in remarkably well-cared-for mahogany-paneled walls. Paintings hung in a haphazard fashion: landscapes next to abstract art and family portraits, a menagerie of the owner’s current fancies.
But there was little chance to appreciate the décor. Rooke yanked Mark along up the long staircase to the second floor. The man spun to the right at the top, stomped down the hall to let his presence be known, and threw open a door. Mark followed and saw a woman in scrubs, tending to an elderly gentleman lying in a bed with side rails.
“What happened?” Rooke demanded, nearly shutting the door in Mark’s face. The boy scurried in behind him.
“Hello to you, too,” the bedridden man said, his voice thick and labored. A clear mask covered his mouth and nose, muffling his speech.
“Hi, Dad,” Rooke greeted. He turned to the woman. “What happened?”
“Son, please,” the man said. He raised his left hand an inch. The other arm lay uselessly by his side. “It wasn’t her fault.” His tried to meet Rooke’s eyes, but his head lolled on his chest.
“Not her fault?” Rooke cried. “Not her fault? Dad, you could’ve been seriously hurt!”
“But I’m not. Everything’s fine.” He took deep, heavy breaths between every sentence.
“No, it is not fine. Who are you anyway?” Rooke asked the woman.
“I’m new,” she said. “Gina couldn’t make it today. I did everything right! I promise you that!” Tears welled in her eyes. “I made sure the rails were sturdy.”
“She did,” Rooke’s father said.
“Oh, so I guess they teach nurses these days to injure their patients while changing their clothes,” Rooke said, gritting his teeth. “Maybe even kill them. Do you realize you might have killed him? How would you like it if someone as incompetent as you did the same to your parents? Well?”
The nurse was bawling at that point, refusing to admit that she’d done anything wrong. “I followed procedure!”
“So it’s my father’s fault now?” Rooke asked, frowning.
“It’s nobody’s fault,” his father said. “I shook the rail while holding it. It’s faulty. I told you that yesterday. When I lean too much on the rail, it drops. That’s how I fell out of bed. I forgot to tell her about it until it was too late.”
“Get out of here! I’ll deal with you in a moment,” Rooke said to the nurse, directing her to the door. When she left, he leaned over his father’s bed. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll make sure someone better fills in for Gina next time.”
“Son, it wasn’t her fault. It just happened.”
Rooke ignored him and left the room to confront the nurse. His father sighed and faced the large window in the room.
Only when the argument moved to the hall did Mark take the opportunity to observe the man. To say he was gaunt was generous. There was little left of him besides bone and skin. His eyes were sunken into his skull and his hair was mere wisps on his head. He sported a pencil-thin mustache, and he was dressed in a hospital gown. His knuckles were knobby
and he looked like a marionette laid aside by its puppeteer once the show was over.
Mark wanted to leave. He was uncomfortable being left alone with an old man that, as far as he could tell, was on his deathbed. But he didn’t want to become mixed up in the argument outside. He shuddered at Rooke’s faint shouts.
Perhaps there was a bathroom? Surely, there had to be one where he could excuse himself to go. Maybe hide out for the remainder of the visit. However, Mark had no clue where one was, and he didn’t want to traipse through the halls looking through various rooms. Rooke might think he was snooping and get angry at him. The old man would know where a bathroom was, but Mark didn’t know his name. “Uh,” Mark attempted, trying to gain the man’s attention. No luck.
What Rooke had called the man earlier struck Mark. Dad. It’s the guy that guide on the tour droned on about. Mark had scarcely paid attention and regretted it now. He racked his brain, searching through names. Something with an L. Leroy? Luke? Leonard? Leonard? Yes, Leonard. “You’re Leonard Rooke, aren’t you?” he asked.
The man perked up at his own name. He smiled at Mark. “Yes, I am. And who might you be?”
“Mark.” He began to ask where the bathroom was, but the argument in the hall became louder. Perhaps Rooke and the nurse were moving closer to the door. So Mark dropped the question. He didn’t know what else to say, but he desperately wanted to break the uncomfortable silence. He didn’t think it was a good idea to discuss the fight between Rooke and his dad, so Mark blurted out the first thing that popped into his head. “I learned about you on our school tour. We visited your company.”
“Did you now? How did you like it?”
“It was good,” Mark said, nodding.
“Come closer. I’m having a bit of trouble hearing you.” Leonard turned his thin hand and lethargically curled his fingers toward himself. Mark stood where he was, unsure if he should move closer. What if Leonard was contagious? As if reading his mind, Leonard chuckled in short, staccato bursts. “I’m not communicable.”
“What do you have?” Mark asked, stepping a little closer. He could now see the man was closer to death’s door than he’d initially assumed. Leonard’s skin was stretched taut, and wrinkled canals of flesh spread like an irrigation system along his brow and face.
“Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis,” he said. He enjoyed a grin at Mark’s puzzled expression. “Lou Gehrig’s disease.”
Mark was still lost about what exactly that entailed, but he knew it was a disease he’d often heard described as terminal. By Leonard’s weak state, he guessed at what the old man might be going through. “Oh,” Mark said. There was a bumpy shape on Leonard’s stomach beneath the blanket. It couldn’t be a leg. It was too skinny. Mark trailed the shape down to a tube drooping over the side of the bed.
“My feeding tube,” Leonard explained, catching Mark’s curious staring. “So are you a friend of my son?”
“He hired me last week,” Mark said.
Leonard nodded sagely. “How do you like work so far?”
“Today’s my first day,” he said.
“Well, would you like to know the secret to being successful?” Leonard asked. He inched a little closer to Mark. “Be honest, be smart, and be unpredictable. Travel on the path least trodden. That’s how I got to be where I was. When everyone was investing in similar markets expected to grow, I invested in less popular ones that a little foresight told me would grow bigger. As long as you don’t neglect people or cheat them, you’ll do well. It’s gotten me to where I am today. Well, not here, specifically,” he said, laughing and peering at his decrepit body. “But you know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” Mark said. “I know.”
“In fact, there was one time when I brokered a deal that sealed the future for my company,” Leonard said. He looked at Mark and laughed. “Oh, listen to me. You don’t want to hear me prattle on. Don’t be ashamed. I didn’t want to hear it from any of my old relatives either. Good thing I was born with a good nose for business. But brushing aside our elders runs in all families. We ignore the older ones, cast away their advice, and make our own mistakes.”
“Get out!” Rooke screamed. Mark jumped at the outburst. “Never come back!”
“Some worse than others,” Leonard said, heaving a sigh. “I worry for him.”
“What do you mean?” Mark asked. “Isn’t he looking out for you?”
“Yes, and I’m happy for it, but—” He let the word linger in the air, turning away. “But it’s all my son focuses on. This isn’t the first time he’s thrown out a nurse. Day and night he concerns himself with me, loading me up with drugs or putting me on new therapies. I should’ve died years ago.” He was no longer paying attention to Mark. Leonard seemed to be thinking aloud to himself, oblivious to all around him.
“You want to die?” Mark was incredulous.
“Nobody wants to die, but you know when your time is up. Mine is long past due. I was diagnosed several years ago. To have lived this long is a miracle indeed. Even if the disease goes into remission, the damage is done. I would rather not spend several more years confined like this.” He patted Mark’s arm. “You’re young. You’ll understand when you’re older.”
I hope I don’t. Mark stayed silent.
Leonard rolled away from Mark. His eyes were hazy, far off in his own world. Mark was privy to the old man’s vocal musings, but not to whom or what Leonard saw and was talking to. “My son can’t see that. He’s a good businessman and I’m extremely proud of him. But I fear what will happen when I’m gone.”
The old man sat there for a few minutes until his heavy, difficult breathing returned him to the present. Mark looked at the door, afraid that Leonard might die in his presence. Rooke had freaked out over a nurse’s mistake. Mark fretted over what would happen to him if he was found in the room with Leonard dead.
Leonard took deep breaths, slowly relaxing. Within minutes, he was at ease. Mark calmed down as well. “Sorry. Gets harder to keep talking each day.”
Rooke flung open the door. His pleasant demeanor had returned and he allowed a smile to grace his lips. “Someone will be right over,” he said, bending over his father’s bedside.
Leonard shook his head faintly. “Son, I told you. It wasn’t her fault. It was an accident.”
“Someone competent is coming,” Rooke said. “I’ll have the rail checked.” He patted his father’s legs. “You’re going to be fine. I’m going to see about possibly working here a few days a week.”
“Look, you know I love you,” Leonard said, “and you’re welcome here anytime. But you already sleep here more often than you do at your own house. You don’t need to move your work here either on my account. How about you go out and enjoy yourself for once? That would really make me happy.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rooke said, fluffing the pillows. “I like spending time with you. Besides, since I have a bed here, I can work easier those days and keep a closer eye on those replacement nurses.” Leonard exchanged a glance with Mark as if to say, “What did I tell you?”
Rooke peered over his shoulder. “Oh, have you two been introduced yet?” He was far too bright for Mark. He’d been berating a nurse only minutes ago and now he was acting like he’d only walked in, greeting everyone normally. How could he swing from one end of the pendulum to the other so easily?
“Yes, we have,” Leonard said. “Mark and I were talking. So he’s your newest employee? What about Finster and the girl? Heather, was it?”
“They’re still working for me. Mark’s going to join them.” Rooke shook the boy’s shoulder. “You should see what he’s capable of. We expect great things from him.”
In that moment, Mark’s throat tightened and his own breathing became like Leonard’s. Rooke’s tone was off somehow, and Mark sensed a hidden menace behind his words. Rooke squeezed the boy’s shoulder and his throat constricted even more, nearly pinching shut. Only then did he ask himself what exactly he’d gotten into.
Halfway Heroes Page 29
