by Alex MacLean
“Look, Dad,” Brian said excitedly. “Look.”
Allan smiled. “It likes you.”
He framed a shot with his phone and snapped a picture. He decided to call Thorne later. Whatever he wanted could wait.
Allan and Brian stayed at the baboon exhibit for another half hour. It was just that entertaining.
Like the cheetah, the lions were either sleeping or relaxing. A majestic male lion sat atop a kopje, surveying his enclosure. The hyenas were just as inactive. Blame it on the time of day. One slept inside a den constructed of rock slabs. Another slept on the grass a few feet away.
Brian exaggerated a shudder when he saw them and wanted to move on.
“I don’t like them. Dad,” he said in a hushed tone.
“Why not?”
“They’re bad.”
Allan chuckled. “You don’t know that.”
“They tried to kill Mufasa and Simba.”
Allan frowned, not getting it. “Right,” he said. “I forgot about that.”
After they stopped to see the giraffes, they made their way out of Kesho Park and began exploring other geographic regions in the zoo. They saw arctic wolves howling and polar bears swimming at the Tundra Trek; the kangaroos and Komodo dragons in Australasia; the Siberian tigers and snow leopards with their incredibly thick tails in Eurasia; the Sumatran tigers and orangutans in Indomalaya; touched and fed the stingrays at Stingray Bay.
The enormity of the zoo surprised Allan. By the end of the afternoon, he knew they hadn’t seen everything. Brian’s interest, he noticed, was beginning to wane, and so was his energy. He was dragging his feet, rubbing his eyes. Allan decided to pack it in, come back again another day to see what they’d missed.
They had a quick supper at Pizza Pizza then headed out. Driving back across the city, Allan adjusted the rearview mirror to see Brian in his booster seat, starting to nod off, then jerking back awake.
“Did you have a good time, bud?” Allan asked.
Brian’s eyelids fluttered. “Yeah.”
“What were your favorite animals?”
“The baboons,” he mumbled. “The stingrays.”
“Yeah, they were cool.”
“The stingrays were really soft. They tickled my hand when they ate those fishes.”
Allan smiled. “Their mouths were like little vacuums, weren’t they?”
“Yeah.” Brian giggled. “What did you like, Dad?”
“All of them. I thought the baby gorilla was cute.”
But Brian was asleep.
He remained that way for the entire trip back home. When they arrived, Allan woke him up and walked him to the door.
“What time is the party with your friends tomorrow?” he asked.
Brian yawned into his hand. “Umm...two to four.”
“I’ll come by in the morning to see you. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Allan gave him a hug, kissed the top of his head. “Good night, son.”
“Good night, Dad.”
Allan waited for him to go inside and close the door. Then he retrieved the booster seat from his rental.
As he placed it back inside Melissa’s car, he heard her soft voice call to him, “So, how was the zoo?”
“Great,” he said. “It’s really too big to see in a day.”
“Brian went straight to his room and conked out on his bed.”
Allan turned to her, closing the car door. Melissa stood on the front steps, her arms crossed.
“I’ll probably do the same when I get back to the hotel,” he said. “We walked a lot of miles today.”
Melissa gave him a light smile. “Didn’t they have a ride you guys could take?”
“I did see some tram cars going around.” Allan shrugged one shoulder. “Oh, well. Know better next time.”
“Brian’s happy you’re here, Al. You’re all he’s talked about these past few days.”
The tightness in his throat surprised Allan. “I really miss having him around,” he said. “The old house just isn’t the same without him there.”
Melissa lowered her head and made a face, looked back up at him. For a moment, they stared at each other, and in that distance between them, Allan saw the wreckage of their marriage. Shattered pieces of it tossed across his mind.
The gray sky finally began to spit a few drops of rain. Allan looked up, batting his eyes at them, then back to Melissa.
“I better go,” he said.
Melissa uncrossed her arms, brushed the hair away from her face. “Have a good night, Al.”
“You too.”
As he drove away, he saw her in the rearview mirror still standing on the steps, watching him leave. By the time he reached the hotel, the sky had opened up into a full downpour.
He went up to his room and took out his cell phone, listened to Thorne’s message again. Slowly, his fingers began to punch numbers.
“Al,” Thorne said. “I didn’t want to bother you. I know you’re off for a few weeks.”
“What’s going on, Captain?”
“We have a problem.”
Allan gripped the phone. “What?”
“It’s Audra.” Thorne expelled a breath. “Do you know her daughter?”
“Daphne? I met her a couple of times. Nice kid.”
“Yeah.” Thorne paused. “She...ah...tried to commit suicide this morning.”
“Jesus.” Allan stood up. “How is she?”
“Not good. She’s in a coma. Not sure what’s going to happen.”
Briefly, Allan shut his eyes and pinched the top of his nose, feeling the tragedy in the pit of his stomach.
“Audra’s a mess,” Thorne added.
“I can only imagine what she’s going through right now.”
“I need your help, Al.”
Allan watched the rain bleeding down the glass of the sliding door. “With what?”
“A case Audra just started working.”
“Dory?”
“You heard already?”
“Yeah. Read it in the paper up here.”
“You know Dory and the Black Scorpions better than anyone.”
Allan shut his eyes again and placed the phone against his forehead. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. He moved his thumb to the end-call button. He wanted to press it, to disconnect that life of stress, heartbreak, and self-recrimination.
“Al?”
“I’m here.”
Thorne gave a quick inhalation. “Listen, I know how you feel. I’m only asking you to lead the investigation until Audra is ready. She’s in no shape to do this right now. And you’re my top guy.”
Allan bowed his head. He saw himself balancing on a tightrope of hope and bitter reality.
“See you when I get back,” he said, and hung up.
He tossed the phone on the bed and clenched his fist. His mind echoed with the sound of Melissa’s voice. Brian’s happy you’re here, Al. You’re all he’s talked about these past few days.
Allan swallowed, feeling a hole in his heart.
28
Halifax, June 12
11:13 p.m.
Audra looked at her watch and flinched. Time felt like an enemy, a silent menace lurking over her shoulder. Twelve hours had passed, and there was still no change in Daphne’s condition.
Dr. Salinsky’s words replayed in Audra’s mind, never more grim and scary in their imminence.
“After twelve hours in a coma, a good prognosis becomes less likely...”
Audra squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head as a fresh slice of anguish cut through her heart.
She sat in a bedside chair, holding Daphne’s hand. Staff had given her permission to stay overnight. She didn’t want her daughter to be alone. Daniel had left for home.
Audra touched Daphne’s hand to her cheek and gazed into her face. So many questions she wanted to ask her.
Why, honey, why?
What happened?
What was so terrible that made you do this to yourself?<
br />
Why didn’t you come to me?
Didn’t you trust me enough?
Saddled with guilt, Audra lowered her head. She wondered if Daphne had left a note. She couldn’t remember seeing one. In her panic, had she just overlooked it?
Daphne would leave one, right? She’d provide some reason why so as not to burden her parents with that question for the rest of their lives.
Wouldn’t she?
The mother in Audra kept turning that question over and over in her mind, trying to convince herself. But deep down, the cop inside her knew only about a third of people ever wrote a note or letter. Family members—shattered, crippled with grief—were left behind to make sense of it all, often blaming themselves for not being able to help.
Like Audra did.
Gently, she laid Daphne’s hand on the sheets and stood up, wavering. She grabbed hold of the chair arm for a moment in fear of falling. The ravages of the day had taken their toll on her body, torturing every joint, consuming her energy like a glutton, leaving her weak and shaky. She had had nothing to eat since breakfast. Just too miserable, too damn sick at heart to even try.
She walked to the window and looked out. The night sky over the city was clear. She didn’t see the moon, but the stars shimmered brightly in that distant patch of black. Down through the dark trees below, cars drove down Robie Street. Many were taxis. Saturday night in Halifax. People would be making their way to the bars and nightclubs.
Audra glimpsed her reflection in the window. Her hair was wild, her eyes aged and hollowed out. Behind her, voices drifted in through the doorway. Nurses were huddled around their central station, speaking to each other in low tones.
Audra couldn’t let them see her exhausted, for they’d surely tell her to leave. Sometime tomorrow, she’d go home and try to grab a few hours of sleep.
She went back to the chair again and sat down, picked up Daphne’s hand. For a long time, Audra stayed there like that, just watching the rise and fall of Daphne’s chest, praying she would soon open her eyes.
29
Toronto, June 13
8:38 a.m.
With slow steps Allan approached the front door. He paused a moment before ringing the bell. As he waited, he clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to calm the emotions churning in his gut.
Melissa opened the door. Her lips parted, hand still on the doorknob. She wore red polka-dot pajamas and slippers.
“Al. You’re here early.”
“Is Brian up?”
“He’s in his room.” Her dark eyes peered into his face, narrowing with curiosity. “What’s wrong?”
She could always tell, he knew. Whenever he was troubled about something, she could always see right through him.
In a weary voice, he said, “I have to go back home.”
“What? Today?”
“My plane leaves at five to ten.”
“I thought you were off for a few weeks.”
“I was.” He drew a breath, let it out. “Do you remember Audra Price?”
Melissa frowned. “Vaguely. She works in your unit, right?”
Allan nodded. “Her daughter attempted suicide yesterday.”
“Oh, no.” Melissa clutched the lapels of her pajama top. “Is she okay?”
“She’s in a coma.”
Melissa squeezed her eyes shut and winced. “That poor baby. How old is she?”
“Fourteen, I think.”
“Oh my God.” A look of disbelief crossed her face. “What would she even know about life at that age?”
Quiet, Allan spread his hands. He’d worked the front lines of too many of those tragedies. Kids overdosing, shooting, or hanging themselves over reasons trivial to adults.
“The captain wants me to lead an investigation Audra was on,” Allan said. “She’s the only reason I’m doing it. The only reason.”
“It’s going to break Brian’s heart. But I think he’ll understand.”
Allan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “This isn’t easy for me. I never wanted things to be this way.”
In Melissa’s eyes, he saw the flicker of some new emotion.
“Me either,” she said softly. “It’s been hard seeing you again.”
Allan paused, fighting the urge to reach for her. Over her shoulder, he saw Tom appear with an inquisitive look on his face. His hair was mussed as if he’d just climbed out of bed.
Melissa cleared her throat and stepped aside. “You can just go in to see Brian. Don’t worry about your shoes.”
Allan brushed past her, gave Tom a nod. “G’mornin’.”
“G’mornin’,” Tom said.
Allan found Brian in his bedroom, sitting on a rug, playing with his Lego set. He was dressed in a blue T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms.
“Dad.” Brian’s face lit up. “I’m building the police station I got for my birthday.”
“How’s it coming along?”
“Good. I just started. Want to help me?”
Allan’s stomach felt hollow. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at his watch: 8:47. He had just over an hour to drop off his rental car and make his flight. Not enough time to enjoy his son or for his son to enjoy him.
Brian pointed to two Lego policemen on his dresser. Black uniforms, gold badges, and, for some reason, white hats.
“That’s me and you.”
Allan tried to smile. “Partners.”
“Yeah.” Brian giggled. “We’d make a great team. Right?”
“We would. For sure.”
Allan’s gaze drifted past the two figures and settled on a picture leaning against the mirror. Brian had his arms draped around Allan and Melissa, an ear-to-ear grin on his face. A football-shaped cake marking his seventh birthday sat on the table in front of them. The smiles of both parents belied the tension and awkwardness of the moment.
“Dad?”
Allan raised his eyebrows. “Mhm.”
“Are you sad?”
Allan lowered his head, swallowed over a painful lump in his throat. “Do I look sad?”
“Yeah.”
“I am,” he admitted.
“Why?”
Allan looked at him now. “Come here, son.”
Brian got off the floor and walked over. Allan clasped him gently by the wrists and gazed into his face, taking in the light dash of freckles on his nose, the tiny smile playing at the right corner of his mouth, the innocent look in his eyes only a child could have.
What to say, he wondered, when no words were adequate.
“I...” He swallowed again. “I have to go back home.”
Brian’s face dropped. “What?”
“It’s just for a little while.”
“Why, Dad?”
“I have to—”
Brian pulled his arms away. “You said we would see each other more.”
“I know.”
“You promised.”
Brian’s eyes misted and his chin quivered. He turned sideways, crossing his arms. Sobs began racking his body. It was the worst feeling in the world, Allan realized, to hurt a child. He mentally cursed Melissa for bringing Brian up here, cursed himself for letting her.
He slid in front of Brian, saw the tears rolling down his cheeks. Heartsick, Allan opened his mouth to speak but found himself too choked up to get the words out. He pulled his son close, hugging him, and Brian’s arms came tight around Allan’s neck. He cried against his chest, softly and raggedly, pausing brief seconds to breathe.
“I don’t want you to go, Dad.”
“I don’t want to go either. But—”
“Then stay here.”
Allan pulled himself back, holding Brian to see his face.
“I have to catch another bad guy,” he said. “He’s hurt people.”
Brian sniffled. “Are you coming back?”
“If you want me to.”
“Yes.”
“We can play with the monster truck again. Even go back to the zoo. See your little fr
iend, the baboon.”
Brian wiped his eyes with his knuckles and gave a broken chuckle.
“Would you like that?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you can even come down to Halifax on your summer vacation and stay with me for a couple of weeks.”
“I can see Buddy again,” Brian said with renewed hope.
“Buddy would love to see you.”
Brian looked at him, eyes red and puffy. “Okay, Dad.”
Allan gave him another hug, kissed the top of his head, and promised to see him soon. As he walked through the house, he found he couldn’t look at Melissa.
When he reached his car and opened the door, he heard Brian call out to him. Allan looked over the roof and saw him running across the front lawn toward him.
“You can have this, Dad,” he said, handing him a photo.
It was the birthday picture that had been on Brian’s dresser.
“Thanks, son. But what about you?”
“Mommy can give me another one. I want you to have it. So you don’t get lonely.”
Allan bit down on his lip and knelt in front of Brian.
“Do you know what the best day of my life was?” he asked.
“What?”
“The day you were born.”
Allan kissed his forehead, turned away, and hopped into the car before Brian could see his face. Slowly, he drove off, watching his son in the rearview mirror waving to him from the curb, his image blurring from the tears welling up in his eyes.
30
Halifax, June 13
2:25 p.m.
Allan stepped off the elevator at the third floor of the IWK Health Center. He made his way to the PICU, and the main desk buzzed him through. A tiny receptionist with short dark hair took his information and told him Daphne was in bed number twelve.
The patient rooms were set up in a semicircle around a central nursing station. Some rooms had windows; others were wide open. As Allan passed them, checking numbers on the wall, he could hear a cacophony of beeps and alarms, low voices and weak coughing.
He reached Daphne’s room and stopped at the doorway, looking inside. She lay upon a big bed as if asleep. Tubes connected her head and body to IV bags and monitoring machines with blinking lights and rolling displays. The respirator pumping air and oxygen into her lungs gave off a rhythmic whoosh.