Page 12 of Deserter

I jammed the key into the lock and turned the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. I tried again, but it was like it was stuck. It took me throwing my shoulder into it until it finally gave, opening up about six inches.

I’d have to remember to grab some oil from the shed for the hinges tomorrow. The carpet was squishy under my boots and I let out a soft curse. The window unit must’ve been leaking again. It’d be the third time in the last month that the damn thing had gone on the fritz.

Just one more thing I’d have to take care of on my day off.

I didn’t know if my mother had made it to bed or if she was still laid out on the couch, so I avoided turning on any lights until I got into the kitchen.

I was starving. Lately it seemed that I was always hungry, no matter how much I ate. The fridge had been bare the last time I checked, but I held out hope that maybe Ma had made it to the supermarket.

When I flipped the light switch, I damn near came out of my skin. My old man sat at the peninsula with his head resting against the laminate countertop.

I watched him warily as I made my way over to the refrigerator, keeping the peninsula between us. The bastard was fond of ambushing me the second I turned my back.

“You okay?” I finally asked when he didn’t come after me or give any indication that he was still kicking.

His shoulders shook with a sob as he slowly looked up at me as if just realizing I was there. “This was your fault,” he growled.

I cracked my neck from side to side, knowing what was coming. “Yeah?” I bit out. “What isn’t my fault, old man?”

He went to stand up but stumbled back into the chair with another sob. When he swiped at the tears on his face, I froze. His knuckles were split open, with scratches running up onto his forearms.

“What happened to you?” When he didn’t answer, I went over and yanked him up out of the wooden chair. “I asked you a question, goddammit!”

The scent of liquor clung to him, along with something else. Something unfamiliar. I looked down and noticed the blood on his t-shirt and tightened my hold on him.

Dread coiled in my stomach, souring the beer and making me want to retch. In the last few months, I’d shot up, finally surpassing him in height and weight. If we were about to go toe to toe, and I had a sinking feeling that we were, then I might stand a chance.

“What’d you do, old man?” I asked again.

He stumbled out of my grasp and fell against the peninsula with a low groan. “I had to do it, James.”

“What the hell did you do?” My voice was louder this time. I’d never talked back to him or raised my voice, even when everything in me had begged for it. He unsteadily shuffled back before remembering the dynamic and exploding in anger.

He jabbed a finger in my direction. “I did what I should’ve done a long time ago! You and Mary were always conspiring against me and covering up your deceit. I should’ve known that you had a hand in what happened that night. She told me how she loaded you up and took you to that motel; said she’d decided to leave me for good.”

Spit flew from his mouth as he talked, landing dangerously close to me as he moved forward. “Maybe I smacked her around before, but I treated her like a goddamned queen after she lost the baby. And then tonight I find out that the bastard wasn’t even mine! She’d been fuckin’ somebody behind my back and as soon as I find out who that was, I’ll deal with them.”

I’d often wondered what the relationship was between Angel and my mother and my old man had just cleared up a lot of confusion for me. She’d been a wreck that night, not just because she was losing the baby, but because of who that baby’s father was.

It was why she’d kept apologizing to him.

Wolverine had been wrong. Ma hadn’t been helping my old man earn his patch, she’d been trying to get herself out of a loveless, abusive marriage. I couldn’t blame her; Angel was everything that my old man wasn’t.

“Where is she, you son-of-a-bitch?” My hands had started to shake, but I wasn’t backing down now; not when my ma needed me.

“No one leaves me, James. No one can ever leave me,” he wept before dropping back into the chair with a thud.

“Ma!” I called, pushing open the door to the kitchen. When she didn’t respond, I ran down the hall to her bedroom only to find the room empty and the bed still made up.

The sick feeling in my gut intensified as I went from room to room, calling her name.

I didn’t believe it—she’d left him.

With that thought, I realized there was still one room I hadn’t checked. I raced back into the living room and flipped on the lamp beside the couch before crying out in horror.

I wasn’t sure how I’d missed the copper smell that hung in the air before. The carpet wasn’t soaked from the window unit. It was soaked with my mother’s blood.

The reason the door hadn’t opened had nothing to do with the hinges and everything to do with the fact that she’d been propped up against it. She was now wedged against the wall.

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