𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄

47.

dad: you're insane. you're a sick, deluded psychopath if you believe i'll let you get away with this. you'll rot in prison for the rest of your pathetic life.

friend: only if someone were to find out, but i can assure you that they won't. it would be awful if they would think that you orchestrated it instead, wouldn't you agree? nobody would believe that a kid could have done that. they'd all shame you for blaming it on a child, on someone you hate, might i add. someone you wanted out of your sons life. they'd think you were trying to make me the scape-goat.

the friend stood up, his hands back inside the coat pockets and his shoulders relaxed. a small chuckle escaped his lips as he walked towards the door. he had succeeded. it was all coming together. once his friend wakes up, it was all in the past and it would just be them. but before he could step out into the hallway, he heard an unmistakable click. he turned around. for only a quick second he was stunned by what he saw as he indistinctively raised his hands.

friend: what do you think you're doing? in a hospital no less. i would have assumed you at least have the decency to wait until we were some place more secluded.

the friend's dad in front of him remain silent, his fingers were trembling around the cold metal, his body shaking, but his eyes were focused on the young man in front of him. even when his life was threatened, he simply stood there, his arms slightly raised, but there were no traces of terror or fear in his eyes. not even anger. just those ice cold pools of nothing and it made the man tighten his grip in frustration.

dad: and what about my son? was that your fault too?

a hint of pained sorrow flashed before the friends' eyes. as quickly gone as it had appeared.

friend: no. that was a tragedy. i might have suggested a few things, some of which were in and of itself not particularly safe, but that he chose to recklessly drive a car at night, just to live a little, isn't on me. not entirely. but i didn't stop him either. in fact, i was only a few miles behind, doing the exact same thing. street racing isn't exactly fun if there are other cars around, you see. so when i showed him the route, it was my understanding that the road had long been abandoned. he was never supposed to have crashed. he actually would have won. can you believe that? your son winning street races? it's not that far-fetched. he loves cars, after all.

the dad didn't move nor lower the gun as he tried to make sense of the words that were spoken. could he even believe anything someone as cold hearted as him would say? he didn't know. in one day all he thought he knew had shattered. this man didn't deserve to be alive. even prison wouldn't be enough. he had taken everyone from him. just like he, himself, had. he had lost himself in bottles and gambling, lost himself each time he saw the fear in his sons eyes. he hated how well-adjusted his son was when he was struggling so hard. he hated how positive his son always tried to be and he hated how much he had envied that. maybe it wasn't worth all this energy. trying to take care of an ungrateful son with his psychotic friend while all he ever really did was trying to forget. he aimed the gun higher, the heart wouldn't suffice. he wanted that young man's brain to be crushed. and than his own. for all that had happened, neither deserved to live.

friend: just think this through. you're going to make a big mistake. your son will never forgive you for this. you'll end up behind bars.

the tiniest of fear had snuck up on the young man. the friend had never thought he would be in this situation. he didn't think his friend's dad would have the courage. he was a weak old man. but now here he stood, only inches away from danger, if only someone would walk by, if he could signal someone, if he could take a small step back into the hallway. dying really wasn't what he had in mind for today. and just as he tried to shovel back a bit, just as the man in front of him gripped his finger around the trigger more firmly, just as the world seemed to slow down, a hoarse, painfully dry cough pierced through the air of the hospital room.