The Father

Chapter 13

I stare blankly at the blood soaked carpet.

It's a bloodbath, truly, the definition of one. It covers the walls, the bed, the ceiling, and the floor. The spots are being photographed and taped off and marked.

"We've got to catch him," I mutter.

"What?"

I look at Joe and shake my head. It's a sunny day and the aroma of the blood is especially pungent, that coppery, sickening smell, almost enough to make someone gag. They were murdered last night, their eight year old child made a phone call to police, and we've been here all morning and afternoon.

I step outside to smoke my umpteenth cigarette, sit on the stoop, and stare at the people who walk by. Some have stopped to watch, there are reporters waiting like vultures behind the barriers, and I act like I don't notice that my picture is being taken. The same old story will get run about this case, that it hasn't been solved, and that they don't have any new updates. Joe and I are like a stone wall with reporters.

It's time for a break.

Joe and I avoid their questions as we get into the car, he drives, and I sit quietly in the passenger seat.

I've been back on for two weeks, my first call coming in the night I stayed in Katherines bed. She had to wake me up because I didn't hear my phone ringing. I blamed it on my exhaustion. How I wish I could be with her right now, but there are more pressing matters I have to attend to, like this fucking disaster of an investigation.

"We should get lunch," Joe says.

We've come to a stop in the midday traffic, I finish smoking my cigarette, and flick it out the window. I don't have much of an appetite after seeing that, but I know I need to eat. And it'll take who knows how long for them to process that scene for prints and hair, both of which I know won't have been left behind.

"Any suggestions?"

I shrug my shoulders, then half smile for the first time all day.

"Village Pizza, maybe."

As I say it I'm taking my phone out of my pocket and opening up Messenger.

"That's fine with me. I'll have to go back around."

M: We're going to Village Pizza. Made me think of you. I miss you.

And so begins the anxious feeling in my stomach as I wait for her reply. What is she doing today? Is she going to see Maxwell? Is she meeting up with her friends? She's got endless possibilities during her summer of freedom, but I wish I could be with her during every moment of that time. The things we could do, see, there's so many things she could show me. I've been few places, vacations in the Bahamas and Hawaii and seen all fifty states, but I've never been to Europe or Asia or South Africa. I'd love to see Paris with her, have her show me all the things she got to see, and snap a picture in front of the Eiffel Tower with her.

I'm daydreaming, snapping out of it as the traffic thins out, and we reach Greenwich Village. It's nearby to her place and I think of telling Joe to take the way past her place, just so I can her building and imagine her there. Or even see if her car is parked out back so I can know where she is or if she's home.

Why hasn't she answered me?

I take a breather because it's only been about fifteen minutes. She could be in the shower or getting ready or napping. Of course I don't tell Joe to take a detour either. How suspicious would that look? Even if he were to find out about the affair, I don't think he'd tell Lena. Not if I explained why I was drawn into her little web. Any man deprived of sex or affection would understand that temptation.