Murder For Hire Page 5

  Luckily, the doctor caught my true meaning.

  "Interesting," she replied instantly. "Six is a good number."

  "I think so too."

  "Besides, some public indecency never hurt anyone."

  We both started to laugh at that. Maybe I was getting better as she believed. She did give me two depressing opinions to choose from, and I created the third, fun one, if not slightly crazy.

  I could call that a definite step in the right direction.

  "Seriously now," she continued when we both settled, "how are you holding up?"

  "You mean regarding Darth Vader?" I asked for clarification, and she nodded. I took a deep breath, needing a moment to collect my thoughts while running a hand through my hair before replying. I came up with nothing. "Honestly, I don't know." Emotions regarding my father were all over the place.

  "I continue to firmly believe this is the best option for you," she insisted.

  I nodded. "That's the only reason I agreed to this shit." And that was one hundred percent true. I was going back home because Dr. Blake clearly saw something I’d failed to see on my own. At the moment, I trusted her judgment over mine in any regard.

  "Call me if anything happens or if you simply want to talk," she offered.

  "Even if it's in the middle of the night?" I teased.

  "No matter the hours."

  "Don't you have to sleep sometimes?"

  She gave me the look. "I work at a general hospital with a whole city full of crazy people. What do you think?"

  "Point well taken," I replied, chuckling.

  "You'll be fine, Dean," she reassured me.

  I wished I had her confidence.

  Not wanting to whine during our last session, although that was literally in her job description, to listen to other people whine and complain about themselves, I forced a smile.

  "See you in two days, Doc."

  I didn't have much stuff with me as I walked out of the hospital. Since I came to the emergency room in my underwear only, one of the nurses found some things from the lost and found box for me to wear today. I only had a couple of books with me, which I considered my prized possessions since Dr. Blake gave them to me to read. Those books were the only things that kept me company during the lonely nights, taking the boredom away.

  During all this time, no one came to visit me. It was a sobering experience to learn I had no real friends. There was no one who could help me in my time of need. I partially hoped Professor Carmody would come to visit since I was sure news about what happened to me had reached him, but he never came.

  I must have really disappointed him if he never wanted to see me again. You think?

  Dr. Blake loaned me some money for the cab, and I hailed one. As I predicted, I did lose my apartment, but the landlord was good enough not to throw all my possessions out in the trash. He packed everything in boxes and put them in his basement.

  That was a kindness I wasn't expecting, to be honest. The apartment I had been renting came fully furnished. That didn't mean I didn't have a lot of stuff of my own. They were mostly books, some collectible items, a few things that belonged to my mother, and clothes, of course, yet I was still grateful that I didn't lose anything.

  After a quick chat with the man, he left me to do my thing. It didn't take me long to gather and pack some things in a suitcase. I told myself to only bring the essentials with me, not wanting to get too comfortable in my father's house.

  After I finished, I simply stood there staring at the boxes that represented my life. Was I really about to do this? Apparently, I was.

  The landlord promised to hold on to my stuff for as long as I needed him to, and I was so touched I decided to give him something. Since I didn't have much money with me, although I’d managed to find my wallet—I was still pretty light—I gave him something else.

  The first edition of one of his favorite books. Like me, he was an avid reader, and we'd spent some time talking about books and favorite authors every time I'd gone to pay the rent. At first, he refused to accept it, but I insisted.

  For a second, I debated with myself whether I should call ahead and tell my father I was arriving, but I ruled against it. He already knew, so I really didn't have to bother.

  My stomach turned to knots as I approached my childhood home. How I hated it with each cell in my body. Only some doom and gloom music theme was missing to complete the experience.

  This place was never home to me. It was always my father's house which I was forced to live in. The happiest days of my life were when I got accepted to attend Baylor Prep, then Columbia, knowing how that meant I would finally be free of him. Shortly after that, I left and never looked back. Sure, we continued to see each other from time to time. My father had visited me, made sure I wasn't tarnishing our family name, but I never returned to this house. Until today.

  Today, I was moving back, and willingly. What is wrong with me? Since that appeared to be a rhetorical question, I banished it.

  I couldn't say if it was just me or if the house looked smaller somehow. It was a freakishly big house, a mansion, but I'd pictured it as being bigger, if that made any sense.

  Getting to the front door I felt weird, out of place, ringing the bell. I was sure my father had orchestrated that on purpose. This was some kind of power play since most things with my father were. He always had to insert himself as the dominant one. He didn't know any other way to be, to live.

  If he wanted, he could have sent his driver to pick me up or left a set of keys. Since he didn't, it could only mean he wanted to greet me personally. Some people would assume that was a kind, fatherly gesture from a man missing his son. Those people were idiots.

  My father opened the door with a perpetual scowl on his face. In one efficient glance, he noticed the suitcase and the walking cane. He looked pained, disappointed, angry to see me.

  Nailed it, I thought humorlessly.

  "You look sick."

  It was true I'd lost some weight while in the hospital, but that was not the point. He said that only to rattle me.

  "Good seeing you too," I replied, forcing a smile. It was completely fake and that was the point.

  He moved to the side so I could come inside. Here I go, entering Mordor, my own personal doom.

  I wasn't surprised at all that the place looked the same. My father didn't like changes, and this house was proof of that. The change implied something being out of his control, and he couldn't allow something like that in his life.

  Although it had been only a year since I last saw him, at some fundraiser, I noted that he looked quite older. Apparently, the mighty Carson Andros did not have control over aging. That thought almost made me laugh.

  Maybe I should comment on how he looked older than he should to take revenge for that sick comment. In the end, I refrained from it. I was sure there would be plenty of time for arguing later.

  "I had to cut my honeymoon short thanks to the disaster you created. I hope you're happy since once again, you managed to ruin my life with your inability to act like a man," he said grudgingly, slamming the door shut.

  Ignoring all the insults, my mind imploded from the bomb he dropped. "You got married? When? To whom?" I asked in a rush, unable to help myself.

  I should have known better than to question him. My father simply started walking toward the stairs as though I hadn't said a thing. I followed after him knowing that was what he expected me to do. Once again, I questioned my sanity in returning to this place.

  "Let me warn you right now, Dean Carson Andros, I will not be forced to deal with the fallout caused by your wandering dick," he said sternly.

  "I don't expect you to," I replied in the same manner.

  "Lose the attitude, boy."

  I rolled my eyes at him although he couldn't see it. He found that a woman's gesture and wouldn't like it anyway. He doesn't like anything, anyway, I reminded myself.

  And if he expected I would act all humble, kissing his ass for letting m
e stay, he was in for a big surprise because I wasn't that same scared kid he could smack around. I was a grown man now. Although my actions didn't always reflect that.

  As we took the stairs, I had an opportunity to really look at him. He looked the same, simply older. He was sixty-two now, and he looked the part. Apparently, being a newlywed hadn't rejuvenated him.

  I inherited all of my looks from my mother. Thank God, since I didn't want to resemble this man in any way.

  While I was all gawky, tall, and lean with pale skin, dark brown hair, and dark eyes, my father with his ruddy complexion was built like a Viking warrior. Even in his age, he was pretty buff, big, and muscular, so it was safe to assume he worked out. His blond hair was graying, yet his pale blue eyes were as sharp as ever, cold too.

  "Do you still do that thing to get attention?" he asked, snapping me from my reverie.

  "If you are asking me about my genetic disease, then yes, I'm still having seizures." I intentionally phrased it in that way knowing how much he hated being reminded that I got that from his side of the family.

  He sighed and that small gesture was full of disdain. Love you too, Dad.

  He showed me curtly to my room, sparing us of any small talk, although I couldn't fathom why he bothered since it was the same room I’d stayed in while growing up. Rolling my suitcase in, I noticed all the furniture had remained the same, with some of my things scattered around. No one had used this room for a long time, and it stayed frozen in time. It felt eerie.

  "By the way, I paid all your medical bills. You're welcome," he said, closing the door behind him without uttering anything else or giving me an opportunity to respond.

  It was tragic how nothing had changed between us. Carson Andros left me alone in my childhood room without offering as much as a welcome home, Son. Not that I was expecting that.

  But I was expecting to be invited to join him for dinner or to be introduced to his new wife. I guess I'll be going to bed without dinner tonight. Still, his paying my medical bill was a bit surprising, and I was grateful for that, just extremely surprised that he'd bother.

  "Welcome home, Dean," I muttered to myself, looking around and inspecting some of my old stuff.

  I couldn't believe my father had kept it as I'd left it. Back then, I was certain he would turn my bedroom into the second office the moment I left home. At the same time, he probably forgot about this room since he had many to spare.

  I couldn't believe I was here, living with that man again. He appeared to be as difficult as ever.

  This is going to be so much fun.

  Chapter Eight

  My old bed didn't suit me anymore. I stood up, frowning. Nothing in this room, this old life, fit me anymore. Maybe that was a good thing. All the same, here I was.

  Maybe I should give homelessness a try. The thought popped into my head. I knew I shouldn't joke about something like that, but being in this place, even for the shortest period of time, brought all the bad memories to the surface.

  I checked the time. I'd only been here twenty minutes and I already wanted to bail. Sadly, I’d promised Dr. Blake I would try it, so that was exactly what I intended to do.

  Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my suitcase. I dumped my things in the closet then pulled my laptop out. Hooking it up, I immediately started looking for employment. I needed a job, like yesterday, because as soon as I saved enough money, I could leave this house. I really didn't want to linger. Besides, my father had a new wife, and I certainly didn't want to overstay my welcome.

  Our first encounter could be an indicator that our relationship would only get worse over time, not better. No matter what my therapist thought, Carson Andros hasn't changed one bit. If anything, the old age made him even meaner. I was sure he was incapable of change at any rate.

  All the same, I was curious about his new wife and couldn't wait to meet her. Who would want to marry him, anyway? That was a really stupid question considering my father's wealth. It was a surprise he wasn't on his fifth wife so far, but he never remarried after my mother died. Up until now, I corrected myself. This lady must be pretty special. I laughed at my own assumption. She was probably some gold digger he’d picked up at some escort service since she would be easy to manipulate and control.

  I stayed up pretty late thinking about the newlyweds as well as looking for a job in the classifieds. It was hard finding a job I could do considering my state. I couldn't hope for another teaching job, not here. Honestly, I was lucky that I hadn't lost my license. But it was too soon for me to start looking for something like that. More to the point, I was sure a man like Chancellor Rothberg knew how to hold a grudge. He would make sure no one in this state hired me.

  I was prepared to call it a night when I remembered I'd completely forgotten to text Dr. Blake and tell her how my first meeting with my father went. I was sure we would discuss that at our next appointment, and in length, yet she deserved a teaser. I kept it short knowing how busy she was.

  I wrote: "Still alive. Thoughts about killing myself are present only with each breath."

  "Excellent progress, proud of you," was her instant reply.

  I chuckled, turning off the lights and lying down to sleep. I was a retainer away from feeling like a teenager again.

  Despite the discomfort this old bed brought me, I instantly fell asleep. The dream about my father yelling at me was short and unimpressive, easily forgotten. Probably due to the fact that I had the real deal now.

  I was surprised when I woke up in my old bed the next morning.

  While I'd been at the hospital, they'd had to tie me down to the bed at night so I wouldn't do anything stupid if I had a seizure. Here, I had no one to do that for me. I could just picture the look on my father's face if I asked him to tie me up. Yeah, no thanks.

  Although I realized the necessity of such actions, at the moment, I really didn't want to live like that forever, and something like that was unimaginable while staying under my father's roof. At the same time, I needed some kind of a safety system, so I decided to at least install a lock on my door, just in case.

  My father would freak, of course, but I didn't give a fuck. As Dr. Blake told me, this was about me, not him.

  Look who grew a pair. I felt like patting myself on the back. I was proud of not only having the courage to stand up to my father but for not having a seizure. It was a small miracle considering I was stressed from being here.

  Since this day started as a pretty good one, I knew my father would ruin it somehow. He had a knack for detecting happiness and crushing it.

  Knowing I couldn't stay in my room indefinitely, I decided it was time to go and face him. The sooner I got over, that the better. Besides, he would be going to work soon, and I would be free from his company until tonight, which was my definition of heaven.

  After going through my morning routine, I went downstairs to the kitchen to have some coffee and breakfast. I knew the cook was obliged to come at six thirty sharp since my father always had his breakfast at seven. I was surprised that the cook wasn't there yet, which could only mean I got up really early.

  Although I slept for only a couple of hours, I felt great. Even my leg didn't bother me much, so I left the cane in my room. I hummed to myself as I prepared something to eat. Opening the fridge, something immediately caught my eyes. The sacred jam. Part of me really wanted to take it, eat it, but one thing stopped me. No, it wasn't that I was afraid of my father. I simply didn't care for that shit. The jam was not my thing.

  My father was also up and running. Sharply dressed in one of his suits, freshly shaven, he was sitting at the head of the dining room table reading his papers. I was sure he was the only man on the planet who liked to read his papers before breakfast, not during. I didn't feel the need to wish him a good morning.

  As I fixed myself a plate of food and made some fresh coffee, a middle-aged woman appeared at the door. I didn't recognize her, but that came as no surprise. The help didn't linger in the house. Most people
found it impossible to work for my father.

  The cook looked startled to see someone in her domain. My father wouldn't be caught dead in the kitchen. Carson Andros preferred to yell at the staff and show his displeasure from the dining room, or for a greater effect, from his study.

  "Hello, I'm Dean Andros," I introduced myself before the poor woman had a coronary or worse, started screaming because an intruder was trying to eat all the food from the fridge.

  "Mr. Andros's son?"

  "The one and only," I replied with a smile. Considering everything I always thought, it was a good thing my father decided not to procreate further. It was a gift to humanity.

  "I'm Nancy. Do you want me to prepare some breakfast for you, sir?"

  "Already taken care of." I pointed at my plate. "Thanks."

  She nodded, starting with her work. Seeing how my presence made her nervous, I reluctantly relocated to the dining room to eat my food. I hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning, and I was starving.

  My father did nothing to acknowledge my presence as I took my seat at the table. By old habit, I chose a seat to his left. I had a half of mind to sit someplace else then reconsidered. It wasn't worth the bother.

  I started eating my food like a caveman simply so I could shorten this father-son experience. This was a big house, but I had a sinking feeling I would be spending all my time locked inside my room simply so I could avoid its head resident. It was true he worked a lot, yet at times, he preferred to work from home, which was always a stressful event for all parties involved apart from my father.

  Once again, I started wondering about the lady of the house. Where was she now? Would she be joining us for breakfast? Was she even allowed something like that?

  My wild theories were interrupted when my watch started beeping. It was my alarm reminding me to take my medications.

  Pulling the small bottle out of my pocket—I never went anywhere without it—I took one pill and washed it down with some seriously good java. I’d really made a perfect pot.

  "What are those?" My father's demanding voice ruined my bliss.