Page 9 of The Shadows of Excess

Tim reached for his arm. “Whoa. Easy there, John.” His gruff tone had softened, replaced with concern.

Dad held up his hand, then doubled over, holding his gut and moaning.

“Dad?” Damon released my shaking hand and stood.

Tears welled in my eyes. I covered my mouth with my hand, trying to keep from crying.

As Tim led Dad toward the bathroom behind another of the bookcases, Damon followed closely, ready to assist. The sounds from the bathroom stopped him cold, and the blood drained from his face. He rubbed his forehead. “Jeez, sounds like a real exorcist moment in there.”

“Damon,” Tim called from inside. “Get in here.”

As Damon rushed into the bathroom, I jumped from my chair, determined to help.

Brody caught my arm. “No. Stay here.”

I wiggled my arm. “Let me go.”

Damon and Tim dragged Dad out of the bathroom, straining under his weight with his limp arms draped over their shoulders.

“Dad,” I yelled, pulling on Brody’s fingers to escape.

Tim shot me a quick, worried glance. “He’ll be fine, girl. Just needs to get it out of his system.”

Brody released me and hurried toward them. “Here, let me.” His calm, authoritative tone caught Damon and Tim by surprise.

Before they could answer, Brody smoothly lifted Dad over his shoulder without the slightest strain on his face. He held the weight of a grown man with the same ease as if he were carrying a light backpack. “Where do you want him?”

Tim gestured. “There’s a couch in the room across the hall.”

As Damon, Grady, Scott, and I headed across the hall, music and laughter echoed from below. Neither the hunters nor the other customers knew what was happening up here. The last thing we needed was questions. Thank God for small favors.

Across the hall from Tim’s spacious office was the manager’s workspace, noticeably smaller yet possessing its own unique character. The room, bathed in the soft glow of overhead lighting, had an air of organized chaos. Framed pictures and posters adorned the walls, some featuring famous musicians and memorable club nights, each telling a story of the vibrant life the club had seen.

A modest-sized desk stood in the middle of the room, cluttered with papers and notebooks. An aging computer sat on the desk, its vintage charm accentuated by a screensaver displaying Pink Floyd’s iconic ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ album cover. The prism and rainbow on the screen brought a touch of classic rock nostalgia to the otherwise unassuming workspace.

Behind the desk, under the gentle embrace of natural light from the window, lay a plaid couch. Its pattern was a classic, comforting array of intersecting lines in muted colors, offering a semblance of warmth and homeliness in the businesslike atmosphere. I had caught Tim taking a snooze on that couch a few times.

Brody carefully laid Dad’s limp form on the couch. The color had drained from Dad’s face, leaving him eerily pale. Each shallow breath he took seemed to struggle against the stillness of the room, adding to the heavy sense of dread. A chill of fear crept up my spine, setting my nerves on edge.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to quell the shivers that were more from worry than cold. The sight of him so vulnerable, so unlike his usual self, sent a wave of foreboding through me, leaving a knot of apprehension in my stomach. My gaze was fixed on him, silently pleading for some sign of improvement, a glimmer of hope in his still features.

Damon placed his hand on my shoulder. “He’s a tough bastard, sis. He’ll pull through.” His voice was too soft and shook with uncertainty.

I shot a glance at Tim, whose wide eyes told a story of deep concern as he gently felt Dad’s forehead. Bewilderment was written all over his face. “You’ve never seen this before, have you?” I whispered.

Tim averted his gaze from Dad, turning to face me and Damon with a troubled expression. As he ran a hand through his disheveled white hair, he admitted, “I don’t understand. This ain’t ever happened before.”

His words froze my spine. That was the last thing I wanted to hear. Creeping doubt set in, making me wonder if we should have waited for Dr. Gould’s expertise instead.

CHAPTER SIX

Damon’s reaction to Tim’s words was almost immediate. His jaw set, a clear sign of his mounting frustration and worry. He paced a few steps, running a hand through his hair, betraying his inner turmoil despite his outwardly composed facade.

He stopped and turned sharply to look at Tim. “So, what’s our next move?” His voice carried an edge of urgency. His stance was tense, reflecting his need to keep moving, keep doing something, anything, to fix the situation.

Tim licked his lips, a hint of unease in his eyes. “I don’t know, boy. This is uncharted territory for me.”

Damon’s anger was quick to ignite, his eyes burning with frustration. “What the hell are you saying, Tim? We’re just going to stand around and let Dad die?”

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