Blood Men: A Thriller

“Okay, Daddy,” she says, and hangs up without another word.

I pack some of her clothes. Jodie bought a bag for this a couple of years ago as occasionally Sam spends the night at her grandparents’. I find a couple of toys, and I figure it ought to be enough. Everything else—pajamas, toothbrush, et cetera—are at Nat’s house.

The sun is still blazing bright, the day isn’t as hot as it was a few hours ago but I still drive with the window down. Christchurch weather has the ability to turn on a dime. There are bus stops full of people all waiting to go somewhere, tourists with backpacks half the size of them visiting the Garden City, mums with baby carriages and bags full of shopping. Every mailbox outside every house is jammed full of supermarket and store brochures. Kids on front lawns are running through and sitting on top of sprinklers. I pass hedgehogs flattened by cars and dogs walking freely along sidewalks, sniffing at fast-food bags dropped in the gutters. I’m in control the entire drive, and I’m in control when I pull up in the driveway and step out. Sam comes and hugs me, and leads me inside to show off the Christmas tree. It’s the same tree they have every year. I smile at the tree and say how good it looks, but the truth is I’ll probably never enjoy Christmas again.

“You look like hell,” Nat says, and I guess he’s right—I haven’t really checked.

“Can I fix you something to eat?” Diana asks.

“Sure, thanks,” I say. I don’t think I’ve eaten anything since the boxed cereal yesterday.

I spend a couple hours at the house. I fit in well enough, but it’s like I’m an outsider the entire time, and even though my in-laws try hard, I think this may be the last time I visit them—other than to drop Sam off or pick her up. I can’t be here with them, and I don’t know why. They don’t blame me for what happened, but their pain and loss are written all over their faces. I don’t need to see that, not now, perhaps never again. After dinner we sit out on the porch, me and Nat, him drinking a beer and wondering why I don’t want one too.

“Listen, Nat, can you watch Sam again tonight? There’s something I have to do.”

He takes a long swallow of beer before answering. “You know, Eddie, I’m not kidding when I say you look like hell.”

“I know.”

“The only thing you ought to be doing right now is taking care of what family you have left.”

“That is what I’m doing.”

“Uh-huh. And how exactly are you doing that?”

“Can you take care of Sam or not?”

“Of course we can, Eddie, you know that. I’m just worried you’re thinking of doing something stupid.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Something. Stupid.”

“I’m only helping the police with a few things.”

“You’ve got a daughter who needs you. I’m not telling you to let go of what happened, but you have to let the police do their job. A man needs to know what his priorities are.”

“I know. You’re right. It’s only for tonight,” I say, “I promise.”

“Okay, Edward. And don’t worry, I won’t hold you to your promise,” he says, and finishes off his beer.





chapter twenty-four


I sit in my living room with the curtains closed and the stereo off and the TV off and the phones off. I’m sick of the world. Sick of my phone—sick of messages left by reporters and the psychiatrist I used to see years ago and by people wanting to check up on me. I stare at the TV as if it were on. In the beginning I can see my reflection, but the later the day becomes the harder it gets to see. I have nothing to do but wait for it to become dark. I stare at the Christmas tree and once again I think about taking it down, but once again I decide to leave it up for Sam. The sun comes in through one of the living room windows, it climbs up the walls as it sinks toward the horizon, reflecting off the shiny balls and bells on the tree. It moves over a photo of Sam, over a wedding photo of me and Jodie, it reflects across the room, orange light, weakening, and then it’s gone.