John’s hand went to the taser at his waist, but it hovered there, uncertain. His father was making no threatening moves. He just sat there, looking miserable and lost.
No, John corrected himself. Not lost . . .
His thought trailed off, unable to find the word.
“Dad . . .”
His father looked up at him, meeting his eyes. Beyond the weariness and seeming despair, John could still see the bright spark of the man who had been his father.
“You want to know why.”
John nodded, slowly. His fingers continued to rest on the grip of his taser.
His father nodded slowly in return, his head bobbing as if he were dozing off into sleep.
“Because it had to be done.”
John’s eyes remained on his father, studying his face, his expression, waiting for more. His father’s eyes brightened. At first, John thought they filled with tears. Then, he saw that they shone with madness.
John’s stomach tightened into a hollow knot. His hand dropped to his taser.
“Don’t.”
His father’s single word stopped his hand. Despite all of his experience and training, his father’s voice could still control him. Breaking free of its hold, his fingers tightened around the taser’s grip.
“I don’t said, ‘Don’t’.”
His father did not raise his voice. Yet, John paused in his motion again, only for an instant. But it was long enough. By the time he realized he had, it was too late.
John felt as much as heard something whizz by his forearm. He turned his head to follow the sound, but missed seeing it. Whatever it had been, it clattered to the tile floor in the kitchen beyond the doorway behind him.
Recognizing that the moment danger had passed, John turned back to face his father, his hand firm around the grip of the taser. He froze in surprise, and then his hand dropped away from the weapon once more.
His father was gone.
#
John fought down the immediate urge to chase after his father. He was an old man—well, a lot older than he was—and not in especially good shape.
Where can he go?
There were probably a dozen or more places where his father could hide in the small house. It was just a matter of time before John could search them all.
It made no sense, though.
He must know that I’ll find him.
Moving slowly toward the doorway, he grew even more concerned. His father was behaving irrationally. Not just strange, John realized. Totally irrational.
Alzheimer’s? he wondered.
As far as he knew, his father had not been displaying any of the symptoms. Although, John recognized somewhat guiltily, he had not been around much to actually notice.
Some kind of stroke?
That was an easier answer, he realized—and an easier one to accept. Something had caused his father to snap, but until he found him, he would never be able to figure out what it was.
Walking slowly and quietly, and pausing often, John checked for signs of his father’s passage through the house. His hand never strayed far from the grip of his taser.
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