Page 73 of Private Exhibit
He didn't want to let Devon out of his sight.
But there were people waiting. People wanting to know how their son died. People who would never be the same, carrying the burden of a gaping hole in their lives.
Andy took a slow, deep breath and left the room without another word. He had to focus. No matter what their son had done in life, these people would be grieving, feeling a pain that Andy knew all too well.
He paused at the sitting area, spotting the couple waiting there.Gods. If the deceased had looked aged beyond his years, his parents looked even worse. White-haired and wrinkled, they looked closer to eighty than sixty.
“Mister Mason?” Andy began gently, then turned to the man's wife. “Madam. I'm Doctor Gerard. I am so sorry for your loss.”
Mr. Mason supported his wife as the two of them stood, taking turns shaking Andy's hand.
“Whenever you're ready–” Andy began.
“Let's just get this over with,” Mrs. Mason said, blotting tears from her eyes with an old, worn handkerchief.
“As you wish,” Andy murmured. He opened the door to the viewing room, then stood back and waited while the couple slowly shuffled inside.
The pair stopped beside the table, holding hands so tightly that their knuckles turned white.
Andy stepped around to the other side, grabbed the sheet, and carefully turned it down, uncovering their son's face.
There were no hysterics. Not even a gasp. Just quiet resignation. Mrs. Mason reached out and hesitantly stroked her son's hair while her husband rested a hand over the sheet, where it covered his son's arm. After only a few seconds, Mrs. Mason stepped back with a nod, and her husband steadied her as the two of them shuffled back to the sitting area.
They both sank into the chairs like their strings had been cut.
Andy reached for the sheet, then paused. A ghost flickered into view in one corner of the room, staring down at its lifeless corpse. The ghost spotted Andy, then floated over to the open doorway. The spectral form hesitated there, staring at his parents.
I'm so sorry, the ghost sobbed.I'm so sorry.
Neither of the Masons reacted.
The ghost choked out another sob and vanished.
Andy sighed and covered the body, then gave a quick nod to the nurse hovering in the background and strode out of the viewing room, stopping at a respectful distance from the couple. He opened his mouth, ready to give his usual speech about understanding what they were going through.
Before he could speak, Mr. Mason said, “We always knew this day would come.” The man shook his head, staring down at the floor as he clutched his wife's hand. “We hadn't heard from Steven in years,” he went on. “Or whatever he was calling himself now,” the man added in a mumble. “We were never really sure if he was still alive. But now…” He took a deep breath and straightened up, looking at Andy. “How did you even manage to find us?”
“My assistant,” Andy told him. “He tracked down some old files using DNA analysis.”
Mrs. Mason winced.
“From there,” Andy went on, “he was able to find the name change and trace next-of-kin.”
Mr. Mason nodded. “He changed his name to protectus,” he said, squeezing his wife's hand. “To try distancing himself from us. After what he did–” He swallowed hard. “If you found his files, I'm assuming you know about that, too.”
Andy gave him a single nod.
“He was so ashamed,” Mr. Mason continued. “It haunted him. He ran away. Started drinking. We only heard from him every few years or so. Never really knew where he was. Whether he was alive or dead until a phone call came out of the blue. He'd be drunk and rambling and begging for forgiveness. Half the time, he wasn't remotely coherent. The other half, it sounded like he was being hunted. Every time life started to turn around for him, it fell apart again. Evictions. Lost jobs. Money vanishing into thin air. It was really only a matter of time…” The man paused, eyeing the door to the viewing room. “We've been waiting for this day for over twenty years.”
Andy winced.Gods. That was something he understood all too well. The anticipation. The knowledge that disaster—that death—was barreling down upon him like a freight train. Thathe'd never know exactly when it was coming until it was too late, but that nothing he did could stop it.
“Don't get me wrong,” Mr. Mason suddenly added. “What he and the other boys did to that poor girl was…”
“Horrific,” Mrs. Mason mumbled.
Her husband nodded. “But he was still our son.”
“Our little boy,” Mrs. Mason whispered before hiding her face behind the handkerchief.
