Page 19 of Embattled Ever After

He didn’t have to tell her twice. Pulling her phone from her pocket she swiped and tapped until a voice started calling out directions. The location was on the north side of town, toward Fort Lupton. The roads were better and the snow had cleared, but it would take them a while to get there.

Duncan growled as he called John and filled him in on what was going on.

“You sure going up there is smart? Need me to run back-up?”

“No and no, but I can’t just leave him there alone.”

John sighed. “I know you can’t, but I don’t care if it is Christmas, you need to take someone with you.”

“I have Dr. Hartfield with me.”

She looked over when he said her name.

“That’s great you have your honey with you, but maybe you should have someone that’ll be better back-up. She could be collateral damage.”

Duncan wanted to bitch about the ‘honey’ bit, but he didn’t know how to do it without actually saying the word. “I think we’ll be all right. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything. He may not even be there by the time we get there.”

“You’d better call me. I’ll be waiting.”

They drove in silence for several minutes. Duncan concentrated on the spotty roads and not getting pulled over in the clear spots when he sped up.

“He may or may not want a female there when I talk to him. Hang back at the truck until I feel out the situation. If this guy’s woman has really walked out on him, it’s going to be a volatile situation.”

Alex nodded, but held up a hand. “I want you think about something though. I’m a trained medical doctor. I’ve done my rotations and have more than a passing acquaintance with psychology. I’ve dealt with suicidal subjects before and have had pretty good responses.”

“Noted,” he told her firmly. If she would be an asset in this situation, he would use her.

The house that the GPS directed them to was decorated with blinking Christmas lights and seemed well-kept, fitting in well with the rest of the houses in the neighborhood. A blacked-out Jeep sat in the drive, patriotic stickers decorating the back glass. An Army Airborne sticker took prominence in the bottom right hand corner.

Duncan parked behind the Jeep, but left the truck idling. “If you hear anything, press redial on my phone. That’s John Palmer. Then dial 911 and tell them what’s going on. Understand?”

Alex shook her head. “You’re going to take your damn phone with you. I saw the number for Palmer. If I need him, I’ll call.”

Duncan felt a sudden flare of jealousy at the thought of another man seeing to her needs, but he pushed it away and tucked the phone into his pocket. “Okay, but you stay in the truck unless I call you.”

She nodded her head but he could tell by the set of her jaw that she might or might not listen to what he told her.

Duncan slipped out of the truck, planting his cane. The sidewalk had already been cleared, so he followed the path up to the front door. When he knocked, there was no response. He waited a few seconds then pounded again. “Hank?”

No response.

Stepping back he looked over the house and spied a second sidewalk leading around the side. When he leaned around he realized there was a little shed-type workshop in the back, and there were lights on inside. Carefully setting the tip of his cane on the not-so-cleared walk, he made his way around to the back of the house. There were boot prints leading from the house to the little barn, so Duncan stopped long enough to call out a hello. There was no response. Walking forward a few more steps he called out another hello. “Hank?”

There was still no response.

Duncan walked forward enough to knock on the door of the little barn, then he opened it just a crack and peered in.

The interior was lit with several bars of florescent lights. It had been modified to be a man’s hangout with beer and tool signs decorating the walls. There were benches lining two sides, cluttered with miscellaneous projects in various states of completion. And in an old leather recliner sitting in one corner sat Hank Fryman, head resting against the barrel of the shotgun propped on the floor in front of him.

Duncan took in a heavy breath. This was exactly what he’d feared. “There has to be a better way, Hank.” He kept his voice strong but firm.

The man looked up, face tortured, seemingly unsurprised to see Duncan standing there. He gave a harsh laugh. “The last number I call and someone finally listens, just when I don’t want him to.”

Duncan stepped over the threshold of the barn and pulled the door a little shut to keep the warmth inside and turned to face the former soldier. “You wanted someone to respond. You just didn’t call me soon enough.”

The man barked out a laugh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Why are you doing this, Hank?”

---