Page 135 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

It felt like the closing of a circle. Felt final. Right.

“Come on, baby,” Ava urged. “We gotta go.”

Big Son turned, startlingly graceful in the water, a submarine that moved like a ballerina. He took three large chomps, adjusting his dinner in his grip, and then, slowly, moved away from them, propelled by the unhurried sweeps of his monstrous tail, bearing away the last any of them would ever see of Harlan Boyle.

Twenty-Nine

The only other time Ghost had approached the doors of this hospital, Aidan had been waiting for him, shaken and smoking.

He was standing there now, beneath the cover of the porte-cochere. Eight years older. A father now. A husband. The current VP of the mother chapter. He still looked rattled, though, too pale, and he was smoking, gray ribbons twining up from the lit cigarette he held between two fingers.

Ghost adjusted the hood of his jacket against the gentle, sweeping rain that had been falling across New Orleans since dawn, and lengthened his stride.

He could tell when Aidan spotted him, because he stilled, and his shoulders tensed, and then lifted.

Ghost stepped under the overhang and pushed his hood back. He was struck by the sudden, strong urge to close the gap between them, and pull Aidan to him. To hold him like he hadn’t done nearly enough when he was a little boy, and Ghost had been a selfish, wallowing prick who hadn’t been around enough. He wanted to sayI’m sorry, son. My boy. I’m so sorry.

But the way Aidan’s face tightened told him that wouldn’t be welcome. He pulled up a few feet away, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Aidan took a drag, and as he did, his gaze flicked down to Ghost’s boots, and back up. On the exhale, he said, “You don’t look bad for a dead man.”

Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing the best thing. I really thought…

“You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

Aidan took another drag, gaze narrow, whatever he really felt masked by a shrewd air of contemplation. “Nothing you do surprises me anymore.”

Goddamn it. Goddamn him.

“Aidan–”

“You here to see the walking wounded?” Aidan flicked the butt into the top of the sand tower at his side and turned toward the doors. “I’ll walk you up. Local PD pulled some strings and got them roomed together.”

“Aidan.”

Aidan paused, and half-turned. He lifted his chin, and he looked like he’d been taking some of Tenny’s face lessons. Always an open book, always quick to laugh, to frown, to shout his anger out loud, the son that Ghost had known for almost forty years gazed upon him now with a stranger’s coolness.

Ghost had no idea what to say to him, how to even begin to broach this clusterfuck. But he was going to try. “I came to see you, too. We should talk.”

Aidan plucked at the VP patch sewn to his chest. “Don’t worry. Walsh can have this back. I don’t give a shit.” He turned again, and strode toward the automatic doors.

“Fuck,” Ghost muttered, and followed.

He caught up to Aidan at the elevators, and when it arrived, they stepped on together, side-by-side. Ghost tried to surreptitiously check him for injuries, but his face was clear, despite the tired bags under his eyes, and he wasn’t limping or obviously bandaged.

Aidan glanced over, sideways, not even cagey, just…unbothered. Totally flat. Christ, but it was spooky coming from him.

“What’s the damage?” Ghost said, facing forward again, watching their reflections in the scuffed silver wall.

“Mercy’s got three GSWs. Two through-and-throughs in his right bicep. Little bit of nerve damage, the docs think, so they’re talking about follow-ups in Knoxville and PT.” His next breath shook the tiniest fraction, belying his suppressed tone. “The third lodged in his left shoulder. They had to dig it out, made a big fucking mess out of…” He gestured to his own shoulder. “They’re flooding him with antibiotics and fluids and shit. He's conscious, though. Sitting up.”

He took another breath, and some of the tension left his voice. “Tenny got hit once, right through the thigh. Missed the femoral by this much.” He held up his thumb and forefinger. “He and Mercy both went in the water with open wounds, so the risk of infection’s high, but with the meds…”

“Yeah. Maybe they can knock it out early.”

The elevator arrived with a ding, and the doors slid open to reveal a hallway clogged with Lean Dogs.

A vigil.

---