Sins of the Fathers

by S Gepp

  Silence fell over them like a stifling cloud, and Nathan took the opportunity to look at Chantelle again. "I hope she pulls through," he said absently, more to himself than the others. He settled back on the wheelchair and subconsciously rubbed his leg but found the other two staring at him. "What?" he asked defensively.

  Francis smiled. "She's only a year older than you, you know," he said, trying for the sort of embarrassing joke they had often shared over the years.

  Nathan gave him a look of mock disdain but could not help but return his gaze to the young woman in the bed. "Why us?" he asked quietly.

  All traces of humor disappeared from the faces of the older men.

  That was not a question either of them wanted to think about.

  1991

  Troy stood first and looked at the rest. "Yep, that's right. I suppose we should just let her go," he muttered. He pulled the book out from under his robes and gazed at it with a deep sense of longing. The others could all feel it. He had actually done this before; he knew exactly what was at stake here. Luke and Randolph had seen it, had seen the blood, had seen the animal their friend had become.

  All of them had seen the results.

  And one of them, unbeknownst to the others, had been inspired in the face of tragedy, had also witnessed it first-hand, had seen the power, was sure of its truth.

  But all of them had noted that there had been something different about Troy ever since that afternoon…

  Troy headed back toward the small clearing, the book held before him as though it was made of precious gemstones, a religious icon to be revered.

  Sean was the one who followed him, knowing all too well just what they were giving up, then, one by one, the others all stood and shuffled away until only Francis was left. He closed his eyes and shook his head. They didn't need him there. They would open the bag, untie her and simply leave her be, freezing cold in that flowing white nightdress that Troy had forced her to wear. Then they would return and everyone would go home, and they would live with this shame for the rest of their lives.

  He fought the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. What in God's name had they been thinking when they had come here? Hell, what in God's name had they been thinking when they had even decided to try this? To that point, what had he been thinking when, at the last moment, he had agreed to accompany them? This was not like them at all. But it must have been because, well, here they were.

  Even him.

  Power; all for power. Power and influence and the world on their terms.

  How stupid was that?

  It had become an obsession with them, the seven of them, even himself, he had to admit. Ever since that day with the control they found they could wield over a moron footballer, it had become a deep obsession: anything they could learn about anything—or anyone—that was out of the ordinary, just to increase the power they felt they were owed, to change the world into the vision they had for it, and then when university had been so different, they wanted that high school power back, they wanted everything under their control.

  And why? Some form of petty revenge against a world they thought had ignored them unjustly? Was that it?

  He felt physically ill.

  And the thought of going back to university tomorrow, just another Friday, made him feel even worse.

  And she barely entered his thoughts. After everything else, he was not thinking about her…

  "Uhh, I think we've got a problem."

  Francis looked up with a start and saw Julian standing there. He didn't need to ask any questions; the look on his friend's face said it all.

  This had somehow gone from incredibly bad to even worse.

  Chapter Eleven

  2012

  "Look, this can't be anything to do with what happened," Julian stated bluntly. "She was never found. We weren't…"

  "Then why us and why now?" Luke shot back. "There has to be a connection."

  "Why?" Julian stood and leaned on the table, his cigarette clenched between his teeth. His eyes fell on Brandon, who had arranged this gathering in the private room at the hotel Francis frequented.

  "Our kids, man," Sean whispered. "Look at our fuckin' kids. And who's to say it'll stop with just the oldest one for each of us? What if that's just the start? Oh, shit, what if…"

  "For God's sake, this is all just coincidence!" Julian cried. "Some nasty accidents have happened, sure, but these things happen. There is no-one out there out to get us through our children."

  "I did some digging," Brandon stated suddenly, taking out a notebook. "Her father died about a year later, heart attack, but the newspaper wrote it up as a broken heart," he read, "and her mother now lives in New Zealand, remarried. Her younger brother is, get ready for this, currently a teacher at our old high school, but he's actually changed his surname, probably because of everything that's happened. That's a strong connection between him and Francis's and Julian's kids, who all go there. Her youngest sister is married to a…"

  "Hang on, hang on, you're looking for fucking suspects now?" Julian exploded. "This is just as insane as that whole thing was back then. We're dealing with insanity by being insane now? What the hell is this?"

  "My daughter's in the fucking hospital with a fucking hole in her stomach!" Luke screamed passionately. "Don't you dare tell me this is all insane! Don't you dare! I'm living with this insanity every single, fucking day. We have to find who's doing this. Shit, Randolph won't even leave his son's side. And look what happened to Troy. We have to stop it! I don't care how—we have to stop it. Please." Tears poured down his face. "You should see her," he eventually went on, his voice struggling, the words being forced out. "She's so helpless, lying there, and we don't know if she's going to come out of it or not." He wiped his face with his sleeve, like the school boy he felt he was once more. "And there's not a thing we can do."

  Silence fell over them, none comfortable enough after so long apart to comfort Luke, but none willing to abandon him. Even Francis hesitated awkwardly. The years that had once flown away suddenly weighed heavily on them all.

  Glances were exchanged, drinks were sipped, Julian crushed his cigarette into oblivion in an ashtray, but that was all. The atmosphere grew thicker, and the four men felt like slowly moving away from one another, inch by inch.

  "Thunderstruck" suddenly sounded out, and Francis fumbled with his pocket while the others all looked relieved that something had broken the tension.

  He looked at the number on the screen, shrugged, then held it to his ear. "Francis Coulter speaking," he stated mechanically. He paused, but the bored expression he affected quickly became one of shock and disbelief. His mouth fell open, and he squeezed his eyes shut. "What do you…?" he mumbled, wiping his hand over his face with force. "Say, ten, fifteen minutes?" He looked at Julian suddenly. "Sure, I'll make sure he comes along. How is…" He closed his eyes again. "See you there," he muttered before staring at his phone as though that would change everything that had just happened.

  "What?" Julian asked, but he sounded as if he already knew the answer.

  "That, that was Randy," Francis muttered. "It's… oh, God. Guys, it's Eric, his son. He's… he's in the hospital. I don't know all the details," he added quickly, "but, oh shit, it's not good." Stunned expressions greeted this announcement. Even in high school, they had considered Randolph the least of their "Round Table," the one who hadn't quite fit in anywhere else, who had struggled most with education, and then who had been the first to break off all contact with the others at the end of their first year of university. But he was still one of them and always would be. Francis finally continued, softly, with concern, "He wants me to go to the hospital. Me and…"

  "Me," Julian sighed. He looked near tears. "I should've been there," he whispered. "For all those years, I should have been there. Where was I?"

  "Look, Randolph was the one who made the choice to cut all his ties with us," Francis stated as calmly as he could manage. "He dropped out of uni, took that appre
nticeship, moved out of home, didn't return phone calls. Even his parents were worried about him. You can't blame yourself." He shook his head. "But that was then and this is now. And now he wants his best friend there." His gaze returned to Julian. "That's you, mate."

  A single, choked sob escaped Julian's lips before he lit a cigarette with a shaking hand, grabbed his jacket, and made his way from the room. Francis watched him go, then muttered to the rest, "Follow us."

  They didn't need to be asked twice.

  1990

  Francis and Julian climbed out of Julian's car in the student car park, both using the side mirrors to ensure their uniforms were neat and tidy. "Hiya!" Luke called from his car, swinging his over-laden schoolbag onto his shoulder.

  "Hey!" Francis returned with a nod of his head. He then gazed across at the three figures approaching from the direction of the school buildings. "What's going on?" he asked.

  Luke shrugged as he reached the other two, watching the trio comes toward them. "What's up?" he asked when they finally reached them.

  "Troy asked us to meet him here," Sean explained. "We all caught the early bus to make sure we were here."

  "Hey, he rang me last night as well," Luke said, "but I was at chess club. Mum said he didn't leave a message. Any idea what this is all about?"

  "None whatsoever," Sean muttered as they watched a pair of motorcycles roar past. The two riders and one pillion passenger ignored them as they parked in the designated area.

  "So where do we go?" Francis asked.

  "He said to meet here, at Julian's car," Brandon said with a shrug. He sat on the front of the vehicle casually. "So, I guess we wait. But I reckon he must have his shit-box V-Dub on the road, wants to show it off or something."

  "Sounds about right," Luke snorted. Bags were then dropped, and they relaxed and waited. Troy did not come from a wealthy background—his grandparents paid his tuition fees—and the rest of them indulged his little shows of pride with something that could well have been recognized as condescension if they had been more self-aware.

  "Stoney's got a new car," Luke said with a nod as a silver Saab pulled into the lot.

  "Nice one, too," Sean muttered. "Wish my old man owned a car yard."

  "Instead of being a physiotherapist? Yeah, right," laughed Brandon. "But, hey, you could get one like Sergio's." He pointed at the next car arriving at the school, a green Fiat Bambino with orange panels on the passenger side. They all laughed, a sound that grew louder as they watched their grossly overweight classmate extract himself from behind the steering wheel.

  A honking horn distracted them. They turned and watched in silence as a new EA Ford Falcon six-cylinder pulled slowly into the spot beside Julian's car. The dark blue paint job caught the morning sun with a slight sheen while the tinted windows didn't allow them to see inside.

  Then the driver's side door opened and Troy lifted himself up like a Formula One driver after winning a race, grinning at them like the Cheshire Cat. "Like it?" he asked.

  "How did you…?"

  "What?"

  "But you…"

  The words came from his friends in a fast and furious onslaught, until he pulled his bag out and locked the vehicle, checking it twice.

  "It worked," he stated simply, the smile never leaving his face.

  "What? I don't understand…" Francis started, but Randolph stopped him with a hand on the chest. Everyone looked at him expectantly; this was not like him at all, to step forward like this.

  "That fuckin' thing with your pet chicken worked?" Randolph hissed incredulously. He was also angry, but the others could not understand why.

  "A week ago, I won on a lottery ticket." Somehow, Troy's grin widened. "I got money! Just what I wanted, what I truly desired!"

  "It… It worked?" Luke echoed. The others didn't know what to say. They'd heard what had happened, but it had all seemed like some sort of stupid crap that kids their age, exposed to an overload of religiosity, tried every so often to rebel against their staid status quo. Something stupid that meant nothing and would go on to become a great drinking story when they got older, that was all.

  But, apparently, no, it wasn't all.

  A cold wind blew across the car park. As one of them would later say, shit just got real.

  Chapter Twelve

  2012

  Five men sat in the waiting room of the hospital, drinking a beverage the vending machine called coffee, not speaking, not even looking at one another. The nurse watching the scene from behind a glass barricade was amazed when later informed that these men had been best friends in high school; she had them pegged as mere acquaintances, maybe extended family members at a stretch.

  A doctor stood in a doorway and nodded once. Francis and Julian stood and followed him out of the room. The others watched them go as if they were headed to their execution.

  They stayed that way, eyes on the closed door, still unable to bring themselves to say anything.

  Finally, Luke stood, dropping the half-full cup of coffee in a nearby bin. "Where you going?" Sean muttered.

  Luke looked at him and suddenly started. In the sterile environs and harsh lighting, Sean looked like he had aged more than the mere two decades they had been estranged. A quick glance at Brandon gave him a similar impression; he dreaded to think how he appeared to them. "I'm going to check in with my wife and daughter," he stated, distraught at how thick his tongue felt.

  He didn't wait for a response as he trudged to the stairs and took them like a drunk man until he was at the appropriate floor. Without looking at any of the staff, he followed a path he had come to know way too well in such a short time.

  He slowed as he reached the door of the room. His wife was sitting in one of the cold, hard chairs in the corridor, her shaking hands holding a can of soda. "Annie, what's wrong?" He peered sideways nervously. "Is Shan all right? Is everything okay? Is…?"

  "I just needed a break, calm down," Annalise muttered. "Chantelle's okay. Well, the same as…you know." Her thin grasp on her emotions almost faltered, her bottom lip quivering, but somehow she kept herself from tipping over the edge into a complete breakdown.

  "Is anyone in there with her?" Luke's panic made Annalise wince, guilt momentarily marring her expression.

  It took a few moments of staring at the can, its contents barely touched, for the woman to be able to proceed. "Yes," she murmured, the hint of a smile touching her mouth. "In fact, he's been in with her since they served dinner."

  "Who? A doctor? An intern?" The panic was slowly turning to terror. "Has she taken a turn for the worse?"

  Annalise stood quickly and gripped him by the arms. "Don't… Just don't," she whispered. "You… You need to be strong. For Chantelle." She fell against him. "For me. Please."

  "I don't understand…" he started, but she was shaking her head straight away.

  "No, no, you don't." She jerked her head at the door. "Have a look."

  Luke moved away from her and looked through the window in the door. "Him?" he whispered.

  "I met his father this morning as well. Another old high school friend, another good friend I knew nothing about." She seemed to consider her words before finally asking, "What's going on here?"

  Luke just looked at Nathan, sitting in his wheelchair, reading aloud from a thick book to the unconscious girl in the bed. "I don't know what's going on," he answered distractedly. "And what is he doing in there?"

  "What's he doing? Something both of us should have been doing." She shook her head. "He asked me what her favorite book is and—you know something?—I didn't know." The tears started again. "She's nineteen years old, she's in her first year of university, and I didn't even know the name of her favorite damn book! I had to send Eloise a message." Her mouth curled into a cruel half-smile. "I saw that look on your face just then. You don't even know who Eloise is."

  "Well, I guess it's a friend," he tried.

  "Try her best friend." Annalise shook her head sadly. "She's her best friend."
Her voice dropped low and quavered again.

  "I thought that was Vi." Luke could not believe he was having this conversation here, with his daughter lying in what he could only think of as a coma, and with a group of friends he had not seen for around twenty years gathered two floors below, where one was going through the exact same thing as him with his son.

  "She went to Korea for a family emergency and decided to stay. That was almost eighteen months ago," Annalise sighed, breaking into his train of thought abruptly and starkly.

  Luke looked through the window once more. "So, what's he reading to her?" he asked.

  "Twilight." Annalise joined him. "Nice kid, that one. When he found out what the book was, he looked horrified, and I thought he'd just say, 'Forget it.' But he said he'd do it."

  "Why?"

  She shrugged. "He said it'd be good for her and he knew how hard it'd be for us, so he just said he'd do it." She moved away and sat once more, this time taking a mouthful from the can. "He's a good one. Nice guy. I think he's really doing it to keep his own mind off everything that's happening—something about not being able to play football or something?—but he's still doing it, and for a girl he's never met."

  "Just like his old man," Luke mumbled, unable to take his eyes from the scene playing out before him. "A real nice guy."

  A beep came from his pocket, and he absently pulled the phone from his pocket. He stared at the screen. His face went instantly pale.

  "What is it?" Annalise asked urgently, yet carefully.

  Luke held up the phone. The single word message was enough to make Annalise's tears flow more freely.

  "Shit."

  * * *

  Luke slowed down only as he came to the door where a concerned-looking nurse let him enter. Randolph was crouched beside an empty bed, his hands balled into tight fists, his face buried into a sheet that hung over the side. Julian was beside him, a hand on his shoulder, looking completely lost and helpless. Luke joined the other three, standing off to one side, but he found he could not stay there for long. Especially not when he overheard one nurse whisper to another, "What would make a twelve-year-old kid slash his wrists like that? What sort of guy is that fa…?" She stopped when she realized Luke was listening, then hastened away in embarrassment.