by Nolon King
He put the van back in gear. Looked over his shoulder for a gap in traffic.
A man couldn’t go to hell twice.
The smile was back before Frank recovered his speed, pulse still throbbing on the side of his neck, but the nausea was gone. He could finally get a full breath.
His side barely hurt, and he would be home in more than enough time to get drunk while watching the sunset. Maybe he’d even grill some salmon.
The evening had been dreamy, but the night was dreamless.
He slept in. Waking late to the sounds of cars driving over gravel. He took his time with his coffee. A long shower. When he was done, the weekly meeting was already underway.
He made another cup of coffee — his third or fourth, he wasn’t sure. Added a dash of brandy. Sat at the top of the steps to listen, but Rogers’ voice seemed more condescending than usual.
The rapt attention of the participants seemed overly zealous. Like they were all waiting for a comet to gaze upon with their Kool-Aid.
He carried his coffee down the stairs. Avoided eye contact while passing through. Out in the yard he paused to watch Gen push a sled through the dirt next to the side fence.
He didn’t think she was still trying for a state record of any kind, but she was working with the same obsessed passion he remembered from his previous life.
He looked at the back of the house. Decided to take advantage of Mo and Gen being otherwise occupied. Walked all the way to the front porch. Into the chill air inside.
His smile slipped as he turned the corner into the kitchen, but he had it back on by the time he stepped into GG’s room.
Frank thought he was sleeping. Stood back against the wall to watch GG in a moment of peace.
“Hey, Dad,” GG said. Squinted up at Frank with a smile.
Frank shook his head as he walked around the bed. Sat in the chair and leaned back to cross his legs. Took a loud sip of his cooling coffee.
GG closed his eyes and settled back into his pillow. “You doing what you’re supposed to?”
Frank tipped his head. “Yes and no.”
“Oh yeah?”
Frank set his cup on the small table next to GG’s bed. “Well, I did the sprints, but my diet has been admittedly poor.”
“How poor?”
“And I spent a lot of time on the beach. Swimming and drinking. Taking notes in my van.”
GG turned to look at him. “What have you been up to?”
Frank told him. Every detail.
When he was done, GG asked the question he had been ignoring all day. “You think them girls are okay?”
“I don’t think they’ll ever be okay.”
“That’s not what I mean. Are they okay now?”
Frank sighed. “I don’t know.”
“You shouldn’t have left ‘em.”
“Maybe.”
“You can’t trust anybody.”
“Probably.”
The morphine dispenser bubbled in the sudden quiet. GG reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Frank wondered how it didn’t just freeze on his skin given how cold it was in the room.
“I went to the doctor,” GG said.
Another thing Frank wanted to ignore. “Yeah?”
“Yep. I got a couple weeks maybe. Month at the most.”
Did he mean a couple weeks since two weeks ago when he went? Or from now? Frank didn’t know what to say, and the silence stretched out like static.
The morphine bubbled again. The doses seemed much closer than they used to be. Frank grabbed his coffee to hide behind the rim as he sipped. Cold and bitter, and the brandy tasted like sour honey.
“He said it would get a lot worse before the end,” GG whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Frank muttered around his cup.
“Me too. It already hurts so bad.”
“I’m sorry,” Frank repeated.
“You think about what I asked?”
Frank closed his eyes. Kept his mouth shut.
“Come on, Dad. I don’t want to finish my life out the way it looks like it’s gonna. I’m wearing a fucking diaper.”
Frank looked out the window, but the curtains were closed. He stared at the glowing fabric. “Why me?”
GG sighed in disgust. “You don’t think I ain’t asked somebody else? Gen just cries. Busts out and runs away.”
“And Mo?”
“He won’t even argue. Just stares with lips pressed together like he’s getting ready to play the trumpet.”
“Fine,” Frank said.
“Fine what?”
“I’ll do it.”
Frank hadn’t been sure what his answer would be until he said it. Could doing this terrible thing in the name of mercy redeem him at all? He didn’t think so. But there still wasn’t a reason not to.
“You will?” GG said, and his face opened in a half-grin. Tears rolling from his good eye. His other one stared dumbly from under his sagging brow. “When?”
“I got a couple things to finish first. And then I’ll do it. I promise.”
“You promise?”
“I do.”
The morphine bubbled.
Frank jumped in alarm when the front door opened. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there listening to GG’s pump.
He heard Gen humming under her breath as she went deeper into the house. He didn’t want to confront her right now. He looked down at GG to let him know he was leaving, but his eyes were closed again. Lips puffing out with his breath.
Frank stood with as little sound as he could. Hustled out before Gen could catch him there.
An odd thought. Like he was doing something wrong.
He sighed in relief when he made it out to the front porch.
When he got back to the barn, the session was breaking up. He refused every effort to engage him, weaving through the crowd to the stairs. On his way up, he caught Mo watching him with disapproval. Shaking his head before turning his back.
Instead of lacing his coffee, Frank went with straight brandy in his cup. Looked around like a man trying to find his glasses only to discover they were on his head.
It was his phone that he wanted. Then he remembered crushing it in the Walmart parking lot. Begrudgingly, he picked up the new phone that Stan had sent. Powered it up and waited.
Sure enough there were messages. All from Stan. Mostly chiding greetings, but the last two were of interest. A link to a recording under the text, You’ve made an impact.
A link to another recording under the text, Not as much as you think.
Before clicking the first one, he scrolled back to make sure nothing was there except for, Turn your phone on bitch, and, Technology will set you free.
If his phone was off, how was Stan expecting him to get those messages? He rolled his eyes as he clicked the first link. Held the phone’s speaker to his ear.
Muffled voices and static, then the recording resolved into the middle of a conversation.
“I’ll take care of it,” said a voice.
A decent recording, despite the distortion. Good enough to know the voice belonged to Bryan Owens.
“It looks like we’ll be taking care of it.” Frank didn’t recognize the second voice at all. “Just be thankful I was so close. Be thankful I was listening.”
“I said I’ll take care of it.”
A loud sigh. “Frank Grimm made a mess …”
More static and muffled voices.
“… sure you get put away in Santa Rosa where you’ll die in a fucking riot, but not before you get fucked bloody, you hear me?”
Owens growled. “Be careful how you speak to me.”
“Don’t act like you got something over me, son.”
“Be careful how you speak to me!”
The audio clipped into distortion. Settled back into muffled confusion. Cleared on the second voice.
“One way or the other, this will end. Senator Mickelson was coming next week, for fuck’s sake!”
“I
don’t care about your senator,” Owens said.
It didn’t surprise Frank that a senator was involved. Nothing could surprise him about the evil men were capable of.
“I only care about Frank Grimm, and then getting back to normal.”
“So, we agree on something?” the second voice said.
The silence stretched out for so long, Frank thought the recording was over. Then Owens said, “I guess we do.”
How had Stan gotten this?
What did it mean?
Frank clicked the second recording. It was Ty Kirby’s podcast. Frank looked down at his watch in confusion. The podcast was from this afternoon. How could he be recording in that studio? Why hadn’t the cops shut him down?
Frank stopped the recording.
He saw Jennifer and Becka hugging each other under the towel. Looking up at whoever came through the door when Frank never came back.
Chapter Twenty-One
There was something about a Saturday morning hangover that Frank enjoyed. The thought that there were two days to recover if one were returning to work on Monday. Or two days to make it worse if one wasn’t.
He kept his body as busy as he could to keep his mind from settling on his dread. Forced himself to hit a slow five miles out on the road. Washed the van inside and out. Burned the dirty clothes from last week. Boxed up the guns.
Every time Frank walked past his phone, he picked it up to see if there was a new notification, but it remained blank.
He worried about the ache in his side. It seemed so hot and swollen. Like there was a problem deep inside. It was only hurting, so he tried to dismiss it.
But like the dread building in the back of his mind, the pain wouldn’t leave him alone.
He took his time cleaning himself up in the afternoon. Paid extra attention to trimming his goatee. Some pomade in his hair to comb it straight back. Little curls at the ends at the base of his skull.
A T-shirt under his usual tropical button-down. He kept the cargo shorts and flip-flops, though.
He tucked one of the pre-made meals under his arm. Cod and rice. Pulled a bottle of wine from the cooler. A red Pimler that would have been right at home in Carmen’s hand.
Best not to think of that. He grabbed the corkscrew on his way out. Walked to Gen and Mo’s front door as the sun sank behind the trees to drape the yard in azure shadows.
He took a deep breath and knocked on the front door.
Soft steps let him know it wasn’t Mo answering the door. Gen’s face looked out in caution, then lit with an open grin that surprised Frank so much, he nearly burst out crying.
She flung the door open and danced onto the porch. Moving her muscular body in the mincing steps of a much smaller woman. And she was in his arms.
He was so sick of the tears. Of losing control. But the sound of her crying in his ear eroded his resolve. He didn’t even know what they said to each other. Just the sounds of the words.
The feelings. Regret. Apology. Forgiveness.
He had been so scared that it would be awkward. Painful to be around them. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t avoid their acceptance.
Knowing he didn’t deserve what he had made it harder to take, but this night wasn’t for him.
He passed her the bottle of wine. She apologized for not making enough for him too. He displayed his container of food. Asked to use her microwave. She laughed and took the container with a scolding wag of her finger.
“My man!” Mo shouted, and for a moment, Frank was back at Wild One, swallowed in a killer bear hug. And for a while, things were good.
Frank suspected they could feel what was under the surface just like he could. But if they were willing to put it all aside for the sake of a nice family dinner, he could keep it together. Leaning in and including GG for a soft moment. Leaving him to his rest.
Then it came time for dessert.
Chocolate pie.
Gen cut a generous piece. Laid it on a small paper plate. Folded napkin. Plastic fork over the fold. “It’s the only thing he can still taste. The only thing he tries to keep down.”
Frank looked at the other paper plates sitting empty. “Should we take ours in there? A little picnic around his bed?”
She grinned with tears in her eyes. “He would love that.”
With pie in hand, they filed in to find GG sitting up. Wide-eyed and waiting. “Thanks, Genny!” He held out his good hand to take the plate.
Frank’s heart jolted at the sound of his daughter’s name, then again when GG looked at him with a warm smile. “Hey, Dad. I missed you.”
“Me too.”
GG laughed. “What, you missed yourself?”
Mo laughed as he crowded in next to the bed, shrinking the room with his bulk.
There was small talk and laughter. Gen sat at GG’s side. Helped him guide the fork in. Dabbed at chocolate on the corner of his mouth. Brown foam forming in his sagging lips.
Mo gathered the plates when it was over. Stood with his chest expanded in pride. “This was real nice.”
“Yeah it was,” GG said. “For the last time we did it, I’m glad it was so good.”
“Greg!” Gen shouted. Whiffed a little slap at his wrist. “Don’t talk like that.”
Frank crossed his arms. “Why not?”
She looked up at him like he was too stupid for such a simple concept. “Because …” She fell silent as she sat back.
Frank sighed, looking at GG as she held his gaze with a smile. “He doesn’t want it to end the way the doctors told him it would.”
Gen put her fists on her thighs. “But that’s—”
“Gen,” Mo said. Voice soft but firm. Like a diesel engine warming up in the winter. “Honey, he’s been talking about it for weeks.”
She pursed her lips. “Talking about what?”
Frank put his hands in his pockets. Kept his gaze locked on GG’s. “He asked me to kill him before the pain is too much. Before he forgets who we are. Before he forgets who he is.”
Like it was making his point, the morphine pump kicked in.
Gen covered her mouth and looked away.
Frank leaned forward and put his hands on the lower railing of GG’s bed. “I’m going to do it, too.”
GG’s face twisted along with her erupting sob. He buried his face in his good hand and cried.
“When?” Mo asked.
“Soon. But not while you’re here.”
Gen slapped her thigh. “Are we serious here? Are we really talking about this? Killing a man?”
Frank grunted. “It’s easier than you think.”
Gen jumped up and pointed her finger at GG. “He’s a good man, Frank. You’re talking about killing a good man, not some …” She spread her hands, looking for the word. “Murderer.”
Frank smiled and stood up straight. “But that’s what I am. Kill a good man or a bad man, you’re still a murderer.”
She dropped her hands. Marched toward him only to stop just shy of touching him. “Get the fuck out of my way.” She took a deep breath. “Please.”
Mo and Frank pressed themselves back. Lifted their hands to let her pass. She stormed into the kitchen where she began aggressively cleaning up dinner.
Frank looked at Mo. “I wonder if she knows how lovely she is.”
Mo shrugged. “I ain’t sure.”
“Do you tell her?”
“Every day.”
Frank grinned. “My man.”
GG sniffed. Wiped his eyes. “When are we doing it, Dad?”
Frank raised his eyebrows at Mo. “Can you two take a trip? Start early?”
Mo looked pained. “Not too early. I’m getting that new gray water tank put in. Maybe not until late Wednesday.”
Frank nodded. Turned to GG. “How about that, buddy. We’ll have a nice long weekend together.”
“Then you’ll do it?” GG whispered.
“Yes. Then I’ll do it.”
“That sounds just fine.”
The m
orphine pump kicked in with its gurgle.
Frank almost laughed at the timing, then he sobered when Gen was back in the doorway. Face red and swollen. Eyes puffy. “If you’re really going to do this, I’ll need to show you how.”
Frank suddenly realized he hadn’t considered his methods. The image of him holding a pillow over GG’s face flashed through his mind, and he shook his head. He thought about all the guns he had stashed in a mailbox out in the barn.
He looked from GG to Gen. “Okay. How?”
She crooked her finger. “Come in here. I don’t want him hearing.”
“Aw, come on,” GG whined.
Gen shook her finger at him. “Mind your business, Greg, and I’ll bring you another piece of pie.”
GG ducked his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
She turned back into the kitchen without looking back. Mo shrugged as he followed her out. Frank brought up the rear, but froze at the door when GG grabbed him in his iron grip. Tingling pain radiating up his forearm.
“I love you, Dad,” GG said.
“I love you too, buddy.”
GG nodded. Let go and eased back into bed.
Frank rubbed the spot where GG had grabbed him. Bruises from the last time he had his fingers dug into his arm probably weren’t even faded. He shook his head in wonder at the strength still in that dying body as he joined Gen at the island.
A scattering of papers was in front of her. She sniffed and reached for the top of the pile. Lifted a brochure up in front of him. “This is his morphine pump.”
Frank wiped his eyes and nodded. “Okay.”
She opened the brochure. “It has a purge function. Where the pump comes on and runs cleaning fluid through the system. But there’s a failsafe, right?”
Frank nodded. “So people don’t blast a patient with a gallon of morphine.”
“It wouldn’t take that much, but yes, that’s essentially why.”
Mo was busy throwing the paper plates away. Washing the forks from dessert. But Frank could tell he was paying attention.
“It needs to have the line plugged back in to the top here,” Gen continued. “So there’s a loop. Then it discharges through a drain line in the bottom. But, if you make it think the line is looped back in, you can start the purge cycle.”