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“Sit.”
At the sudden strength in that command, Marc complied.
Half a minute later, the man’s respiration evened out.
“Happens ... more and more. But God won’t take me until I finish this.” He drew a few more shallow breaths. “I’d left all my IDs in my apartment, and after I regained consciousness the doctors and nurses asked for my name. That’s when I realized I’d been given a chance to start over. All I had to do was get out of town, pick a new name, and the syndicate would never be able to track me down. Miracle number three.”
“Is that what you did?”
“Yes. I pretended I couldn’t remember who I was, and as soon as I felt strong enough, I slipped out of the ER. I went back to my apartment, grabbed a few things, and hitched rides west, sleeping in alleys or vacant buildings, going through garbage cans for food. One night here in KC, I took shelter in an unlocked storage shed at a church during a storm. Father Bob found me the next morning—miracle number four. After we talked, he gave me breakfast, rounded up a set of clean clothes, let me use the shower in the church basement, and offered me a job. I’ve worked there ever since.”
“And somewhere along the way you got married.”
“Yes.” He flexed his fingers, releasing the edge of the blanket as the tension in his features eased. “Miracle number five. I met my wife at a church function. She saw past all my rough edges. Tapped into goodness I didn’t even know was there. Made me believe I was worth loving. Father Bob helped on that score too.”
“Did he also help you secure a new ID?”
“No. Tyler Joseph Butler was my roommate for a few months before I got involved with the crime syndicate. He was killed in a street fight, and while I was going through his stuff, I found a few personal documents—social security card, birth certificate, an old driver’s license. I kept them. It was as if I had a premonition they’d be useful someday.”
“And your family knows nothing about any of this?”
“No.” His breathing hitched again, and his withered fingers fisted. “And I never want them to. I haven’t spoken about it in years.”
“Why now?”
“Because I didn’t want to die without telling you the truth and letting you know I asked for God’s mercy and forgiveness long ago. I also want to ask for yours. Not today, but after you think all this through. I hoped that by meeting me in person, you’d see how sincerely sorry I am.”
“Remorse and regrets don’t bring the dead back to life, Mr. Butler. You killed my parents. Two wonderful, caring people who had much to offer this world and who never got to see their son grow up.” His reply came out harsher than he intended, but so be it.
“I know that.” With his tale told, Butler’s voice faded, as if his strength was ebbing. “And I’ve lived with that guilt for twenty-five years. I’ll take it with me to the grave. But at least now you know what happened. Maybe it will bring you a sense of closure and give you a few insights into why I did what I did.”
If the man was hoping for sympathy, he was out of luck.
“Many people from tough backgrounds manage to overcome them.”
Like Bri.
“The strong ones do. That didn’t describe me back in those days. But I never intended to harm anyone that night. I was certain everyone in the house would get out.”
“It’s hard to move fast with a newly broken leg.”
“I know. And I’m so sorry. More sorry than I can say.” His eyelids fluttered closed, but he managed to lever them up once again. “Do you have any questions?”
“No.” In the space of a few minutes, Butler had given him all the information he’d sought for a quarter of a century. There was nothing left to ask.
“Thank you for coming.” Again, his eyelids flickered shut.
This time they remained closed.
Marc stood. “I’ll tell your family we’re finished.”
The man gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Tucking the leather cover with the blank notebook under his arm, Marc let himself out.
Once he closed the door behind him, he paused in the hall and took a long, slow breath. Surveyed the walls lined with photos of backyard barbecues, Christmas mornings, fishing outings, graduations, recitals, soccer games.
The kinds of family activities he and his own parents had enjoyed together for only a short while, thanks to the man in the room he’d just left.
