Page 133 of Black Bird

“I’ve got nothing to say to you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re already dead to me.”

“That’s fair. But if it’s true, then at least allow me a few minutes before you become an orphan.”

His tone had every muscle in his chest tightening with the spark of heartbreak at the thought of his mother dying with this piece of shit at her side. “Is it time?” Brent asked, trying to mask any emotion. When Conrad didn’t answer, Brent moved aside and let him in. He didn’t try to find a seat. It didn’t appear that he was planning to stay very long.

“Are you gonna put some clothes on?” Conrad asked, standing awkwardly at the end of the kitchen island.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not turn my back on a snake in my own house. Never know where it might go slithering off to.” Brent took another swig of his beer.

“Do you know what time it is, son? How many have you had?”

“A little late to come off as the concerned father now, isn’t it? Besides … I’ve seen you skip breakfast and sip scotch my entire life. Now, are you gonna get to the point of why you darkened my door, or should I go ahead and see you back out of it?”

Conrad nodded, pocketing his hands, and staring down at the floor. “What did you do with the blood I gave you?”

“What does it matter to you?” Brent slammed his bottle against the counter. “Did you not tell me that you were leaving all the cards in my hand now? That I ruined ourempire,and you were gonna teach me a lesson?”

“She needs it, Brent, or she’s gonna fucking die.”

“If you were so worried about Mom dying, or ending her obvious suffering, then why the fuck didn’t you try to use the blood when you had it?”

Conrad stiffened and Brent could tell his temper was starting to rise. “Because boy … I wasn’t positive it would work, or what it would do, and I didn’t want to be respons—”

“You didn’t wanna be responsible for murdering your wife? That would look terrible, wouldn’t it? But using mine as a pincushion and a sick little girl as a lab rat would have been better.”

“Where is it, Brent?” His father’s lips curled over his teeth.

“I don’t have it. I made my decision just as soon as I left that house.” There was a silence that stretched between them so thick with hatred one could likely saw it in half. “Do you remember last Thanksgiving, Dad?” Brent asked, picking his beer up from the counter and taking a swallow.

“Yes. I was in New York.”

“Yeah. We saw you. Me … Sarah … Mom. Saw you and Gretchen at the Thanksgiving Day parade in the square. Sarah turned the TV off and tried her best to explain away the obvious shit going on between the two of you that you seemed to have no qualms with letting the world see. The way you’ve treated her all these years … especially since she got sick. It’s killed her a lot faster than any cancer. So don’t stand there and try to pretend you give a shit now.” Brent sneered at him, chugging down the rest of his beer and tossing it forcefully into the trash bin. Conrad jumped at the noise. “You’re such a fucking coward. Get the hell out of my apartment.”

The door buzzed again, and they both glanced at each other. “You expecting someone else?” Conrad asked in a quiet voice. Brent shook his head and stepped over to the door, pushing the button.

“Yeah?” he asked, listening for a response.

“Mr. Stratford? My name is Malcolm Foley. I’m the captain at the 12th precinct, I’m here to ask you a few questions regarding Sarah St. James. Can we talk?”

Brent turned toward Conrad who threw up his palms and shook his head with widening eyes. It was obvious that he didn’t want the captain to know he was here. He pressed the button down again. “I’m not really prepared to visit with anyone at the moment. Can I come to the station?”

“With all due respect, Mr. Stratford, I’d rather you steer clear of the station. And I’d appreciate your discretion at my coming here, as well.”

Thatgot his attention. Brent nodded toward the stairs that led up to his bedroom and Conrad followed his lead, quickly creeping up and making himself invisible. Brent opened his door. The captain seemed taller than the last time he’d sat across from him. Less like he could stomp him with one foot, and more like he was deeply troubled by something.

“I apologize,” Brent started, gesturing toward the towel. “To be fair, I did warn you.”

Foley smiled and nodded his head. “You did. I apologize for the intrusion. I won’t keep you long.” Brent let him inside and extended a hand toward the living room. The captain obliged and made his way over to the floor to ceiling windows, pocketing his hands in his suit jacket, and admiring the view of Boston’s skyline. “Nice view.”

Brent pulled his robe from the couch and shrugged it on, still tying the belt when the captain turned around again. “I’ve considered moving. I could let you know when I do, if you’re interested in it.”

Foley’s face hardened. “Any particular reason?” A pause. “For the move, I mean?”

“My mother is dying. When she’s gone, I don’t plan to stay in Boston anymore. Need a fresh start, I think.” His answer seemed to register with the captain, who nodded again.

“Understandable.”

“What can I help you with, Captain?” Brent finally asked, uncomfortable with the thought of hiding a monster in his bedroom.

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