He sighed. “I understand your pain. Did you know that some years ago, my daughter Asha tried to take her life?”
“I had not heard. I am sorry,” I mumbled, trying to contain my frustration.
“A world without our children is no world at all,” he continued. “But I have gotten my daughter back, along with a wonderful son-in-law. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”
“Skin and Bones,” I muttered, knowing the monster’s name. People spoke in hushed whispers about him. It was almost like Santino De Santis was back because people feared The Carpenter in much the same way. Of course, he was also back on the streets, raising hell in the name of his dead son.
I could sympathize.
“But your boy. He was really something.”
“He was,” I said thickly.
“Let’s meet tomorrow. Five PM. Meet at O’Brien’s off the highway.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Perfect. Have a good night, old friend.” He disconnected the call, leaving me to stare at my ceiling again.
It was just as well.
It’s not like I had anything better to do in the state I was in.
I sat waitingfor Nico at O’Brien’s the following evening. It was an old, dingy bar outside of town. When we were younger, we’d all go there and get beers, get high, fuck women who thought we were older than our college age.
I hadn’t set foot in there in years. When we were younger, we’d fantasize about buying it and turning it into something really special.
Those dreams went out the window a long time ago now. I found it funny that Nico wanted to meet here.
I stared down at my drink in front of me. The jukebox played off in the distance some old rock tune I hadn’t heard in what felt like forever. Only a few people were in the joint. Just old men who probably went there to escape their lives.
I took another drink as someone slid onto the barstool next to me.
I glanced over and did a double-take.
“S-Stef?” I choked out as my dead son sat staring back at me.
“Hey, Dad,” he murmured.
I blinked rapidly, not sure if I’d been poisoned and was finally dying.
“I-Is it you? Stef?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” He gave me a small, nervous smile. “It’s been a long time.”
“H-How? I-I buried you. You were shot in the head. I-I don’t understand…”
“We should talk,” he said. “If you have the time.”
“I do. I have the time,” I rasped.
He smiled and gestured for me to follow him to a dark corner of the bar. I did and sat in the booth with him, away from prying eyes.
“How?” I repeated as I peered through the dim light at him. He looked older. Bigger. Stronger. Tired.
But he was still my son.
“I had to get away,” he said softly. “I-you were too much. I didn’t want this life, but it seems to have found me anyway.”
