Page 27 of Prodigal Son

“Not on purpose. Albie.” She gave him a stern look. “It’s safe to say that nothing that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours has gone as planned. Okay?”

He lifted his glass with a little nod. “Okay. Fair enough.”

~*~

Fox didn’t remember falling asleep, but he obviously had, because suddenly he was waking up, blinking dumbly at the smooth plaster of the ceiling. His eyes were crusty, and his mouth tasted like something had died in it, and his head throbbed.

It had been a long, long time since he drank so much that he blacked out.

He rolled onto his side, groaning against the way his headache traveled, like a weight inside his skull that rolled with him, and his hand landed on something that crinkled. A piece of paper. A note, he realized, as he brought it up to his face and squinted at it. It took an embarrassing amount of time before the words resolved themselves, and then he recognized Tommy’s handwriting.

You got up at midnight and hadthree more drinks. I made you drink water and put you back to bed. You can thank me later!!!

Three more. No wonder he couldn’t remember anything.

He fumbled with a shaking hand across the bedspread until he found his mobile and checked the time. Five after six in the morning. Weak, milky sunlight fell through the gap in the curtains in a diffuse cloud. He heard the distant sounds of humanity from deeper in the building – a place with this many inhabitants was never truly silent – but not the hectic rush of a truly-awake Baskerville.

Fox needed coffee, a smoke, and fresh air, in that order.

After a visit to the bathroom, the Keurig down on the first floor, and back to his room for the crumpled pack of Marlboros he’d brought all the way from Amarillo, he headed up to the roof.

The building that housed Baskerville was an old one, though its roof had been tarred afresh and retrofitted with modern AC units and vents. The buildings around it, though, were modern, sleek, and made Baskerville feel like a place out of time. Backward, almost.

Fox leaned up against an electrical box and took his first long, soothing drag off a cigarette, welcoming the chill the morning air put into his bones, and the contrasting warmth of the coffee mug in his hand. When he heard the scrape of a shoe and the clearing of a throat, he thoughtof course. Of course someone had ruined his stolen moment of peace.

Fox closed his eyes a moment, briefly, took a deep breath that tasted of London smog and rainwater. Steeled himself, because he knew who waited behind him. And when he opened his eyes and turned, he was proven right.

Devin – not-Devin, whatever his real name was – stood a few feet away, smoking his own cigarette, shoulder propped against the brick shed that housed the top of the stairwell. “Good morning,” he said, pleasantly, though his face was strangely flat and hard to read. Fox had never seen him not laying on the charm; he didn’t know what to make of this inscrutable seriousness.

“Morning,” Fox echoed. “Ready to die today?”

Devin snorted, small smile gracing his mouth. “I’ve always been ready to die. Comes with the territory, kid. Doesn’t mean Iwantto, though.”

“And there’s a distinction.”

“There is. You know there is.” He cocked his head. “I think you live the same way, hm?”

“No,” Fox scoffed, but yes, yes, he did.

Oh, Jesus, why was his brain doing this to him? Last night, fueled first by panic, then by whiskey, had been bad. But this, sober and exhausted and hurting, standing in the cold morning air, was somehow worse. A lifetime’s worth of suppressed daddy issues were bubbling to the surface all at once, and they were as inconvenient as they were terrifying.

Devin let out a deep breath and settled back against the bricks, shoulders slumping. “I know what I said yesterday,” again with the seriousness, “but none of you kids have to be a part of this. I can still take off.” He jerked a thumb over one shoulder, smile turning wry. “It’s what I do best, right? No worries for you, and Phil, and the little ones. The girls. I can make my own way. Always have. Just might have to lay really low for a while.”

Fox glanced across the roof, to the place where a ladder sprouted over the edge, one that led down to a fire escape, and eventually to the pavement below. Devin could run; it was what he’d done his whole life. In twenty minutes, he could be across the city. In twenty hours, he could be on the other side of the world. They might have some tidying to do, convincing his many enemies that he was really gone and that they had no idea where he’d gone.

Let him go, a voice whispered in the back of Fox’s mind. He’d never been of any use to any of them. Probably didn’t love them. Definitely wasn’tgoodfor them.

But…

Something stirred, deep down. Something foreign.

“Before,” Fox said, slow so he’d be sure to get it right, “every other time you’ve disappeared. You’ve never told anyone. You just…left.”

Devin studied him, silent.

“I think maybe you don’twantto leave this time.” His pulse accelerated. It wasn’t hope. Wasn’t affection.Wasn’t. He hated this traitorous asshole.

“I’m old,” Devin said. “Running’s not as easy as it used to be.”

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