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A few minutes later,I was let into a hospital room where Lance was sitting on a bed, staring blankly out the window.
“Mr. Orwell,” the doctor called out in a cheery voice. “There are some people that are here to see you.
Lance didn’t turn from his position. “I told you I didn’t want any visitors.” He sounded tired, resigned.
“Well, that’s too damn bad,” I said, walking in. “If you’re gonna end your life, you better be prepared to stare into my eyes while you do it.”
Lance still didn’t look at me, but his face tightened. I turned to Kuzo and the doctor, gesturing for them to leave and close the door. Kuzo looked all too happy to do it, while the doctor seemed to hesitate.
“Remember, you can’t….”
“I know. I won’t let him near anything sharp.” I waited for them to leave before I turned back to Lance. He was quiet for a long time, waiting for my talk. But I didn’t say anything yet. I figured I would wait until he was ready to listen, so I settled in the chair by his bed, crossing my arms over my chest and waiting it out.
About six minutes into the visit, he finally spoke up and said, “If you’re here to tell me something, you can quit the disappointed father act. I don’t give a fuck about disappointing you. And I’m not here to hear any of your words of encouragement either. They change nothing, and I’m not in the mood.”
Oh, he thought he had me all figured out, did he?
“How long have you known?” I asked.
“Known what?” He couldn’t resist asking in response.
“Who Randy was.”
He knew almost instantly what I was talking about. His entire body stiffened as if I had cocked a gun and pointed it at his head.
And I guessed that, on some level, this was like that. Because I was sure that he would rather be dead than be exposed like this.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “How did you know?”
“Don’t insult me. I run a security agency for a reason. Did you really think I wouldn’t figure out what the fuck was going on? That the kid is your son?”
His eyes shut like he was in pain, viscerally and physically, and he couldn’t bear it anymore. He swallowed and then choked out, “Don’t say that. I’ve never been a fucking father to him.”
“When did you find out about his existence?”
He gave a hoarse laugh. “On the day of the fucking heist. I recognized him a little in that hazy picture we got from the camera, but it wasn’t until that day that I looked him in the face and realized who he was. Funny thing is he knew who I was too. Apparently, his mom used to show him my pictures and tell him stories about me. That was how he planned the entire heist so well.” A trace of a proud smile crossed his lips. “Clever little brat. He dropped clues for us toward the end because he wanted to get caught. His partners were talking about hurting the girl, and he said he never thought it would get that far. He just needed the money.”
Lance’s expression became even darker, his eyes blinking rapidly before he spoke. “I met his mom only once after I came back, and she never told me I had a kid. And after she passed away, the kid wanted nothing to do with me. Told me that he would rather rot in jail than have any association with me.” He gave a tired smile. “So while I was out there saving hostages from criminal assholes, my son was turning into one. And you know what? I can’t even blame him. Because I wasn’t here. He told me he slept on the streets at some point after his damn foster father kicked him out. He was smart as fuck and got a scholarship to that damn school, where everyone made fun of him for being poor. Then he lost his scholarship after getting into a fight, and now he’s probably going to jail for a long time. All because I wasn’t fucking here!” The last was said with a fury that had him slamming a fist on the bed. The table rattled, the bottle of water on it upending. I righted the bottle and waited for his anger to subside.
“And you think killing yourself would make things better?” I asked.
Lance smirked sardonically. “It’s not like my being alive has been helpful to him.”
I stared at Lance, not knowing how to approach him. I thought about Tillie and her father. About what she went through and how much I failed her.
“Then I should be dead, too,” I said. “Because, by your logic, it’s as much my fault as it is yours.”
“Don’t try to guilt trip me. It won’t work.”
“I’m not trying to guilt trip you. I’m just trying to show you that you’re not thinking about this straight. Instead of lying in bed and feeling sorry for yourself, you should be out there, fighting for your son.”
His face squeezed tightly, and he shook his head. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“So?” I asked. “You be there anyway. You show up again and again, and every time he throws shit in your face, you regroup and show up again. That’s how you fix it. Only when you stop trying do you cease to be a father.”
“He’s going to jail for a long time.” Lance’s voice was dull and lifeless. “The mayor is out for blood. There’s nothing I can do.”
