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It said,First.
And he was right. It was an X-Ray sleeve.
On the edge it said,Corey J. Szabo.
His father wrote those notes.
His father packed this box.
His father put this together himself.
For Hale.
It took every ounce of courage he had to set the ring box aside, reach in and pull that sleeve out.
When he did, he found it was heavier than expected.
Thick.
He shook out the images, but more came out.
A folder.
A medical folder.
On the top was taped another note from his dad.
This one read,Not an excuse, an explanation.
He opened the folder, and he was in such a scattered headspace, trying to detach from what was happening, being pissed it was happening, trying to keep a lock on the feelings he’d been feeling since he ended things with Elsa, at first, he didn’t know what he was looking at.
And then dates on the medical notes stood out.
That was when some of the words he was reading registered on his brain.
He staggered back and fell into a chair, now staring at the words jumping out at him, penetrating his eyes like poisoned darts.
“What is it, Tom?” Genny asked quietly.
“Jesus Christ,” Tom said from above him.
Hale read through some of the notes.
Not all the same doctor, they weren’t so stupid they took him to the same doctor. Though, quite a few of them weren’t doctor notes, but hospital notes.
But they were all about the same patient.
His dad.
Somehow, his dad got hold of these and collated them.
Maybe so no one would get their hands on them.
Maybe for this.
For now.
To tell his son way too late how criminally and pathologically abused his father had been at the hands of his parents.
