Free Blood Brothers by Keith Latch

lightning to her bookshelf, selected a volume for
Stephanie to orate, turned, ran and jumped into the bed. Ordinarily
Stephanie would have been quick to scold for such actions. But not
tonight. Tonight it was okay. There was no way of knowing what
Michael had said to upset his daughter so. Stephanie was not about
to inquire, but in the end all that mattered was he had let her
down again. That was the real constant of the universe: Michael
Cole would always disappoint those who cared for him the most.
    With the overhead light extinguished and only
the small lamp aglow, Stephanie pulled a glider rocker to the edge
of the bed and took a seat. Christal, already snug under her fluffy
pink blanket, laid waiting. The hardcover book was dog-eared and
well-worn. Stephanie had read the book dozens of times, Michael at
least half that many. Christal knew not only the beginning, the
middle, and the end; she knew the entire text by heart. But
Stephanie remembered from her own childhood how wonderfully magical
the reading of a familiar story could be when read by the voice of
someone you loved dearly. It, in essence, brought the story to
life.
    Stephanie began reading. The book was a thin
one. The story could easily be told from start to finish in only
three quarters of an hour. Stephanie, however, didn’t get past the
ten-minute mark before she looked up and saw that Christal’s eyes
were closed, and her breathing deep and even.
    She was delighted from the singular joy of a
mother knowing her child slept in a peaceful, undaunted slumber.
She eased the book shut and placed it carefully on the nightstand.
Standing, she stepped softly away from the bed towards the
door.
    Just as Stephanie reached out to open the
door, Christal called out, “Mommy?”
    Stephanie turned. “Yes, sweetheart?”
    “Do you love daddy?”
    Stephanie visibly blanched at the question
from out of nowhere. Only a child could possess such directness.
“Why do you ask that?”
    “I don’t know. I just wondered.” Christal
still laid still, her eyes closed.
    “Of course I do, Christal. Of course I
do.”
    “Do you think Daddy loves you?”
    Stephanie really didn’t have an answer for
that. Well, she did, but such harsh words were not meant for the
ears of the young or innocent.
    “Goodnight,” was her only reply as she walked
out of the room, closing the door behind her.
    Suddenly, Stephanie needed a pill. More than
one, in all reality.
     
    ***
     
    Michael waited for a good five minutes before
his impatience became evident. He’d been keeping an eye on the hall
leading to the restrooms during Trista’s absence. If she’d
double-backed and headed for the door, surely he would have seen
her.
    After another five minutes passed, he decided
to check things out for himself. He grabbed the bottled water and
strode away from their table.
    If anything, Club 312 had gotten busier and
the crowd of people, thicker. Crowds, to Michael, were like an
abscessed tooth. The pressure started slowly, the throbbing nerve
an uncomfortable tickle. But before you knew it, the threshold of
discomfort was passed, and acute pain was reached. Michael began to
sweat profusely as he pushed his way into the crowd.
    Finally he emerged from the dense forest of
clubbers and arrived at the hall. From here he could see Trista
against one wall. So he hadn’t been ditched after all. His relief
was palpable. It had been a very long time since any woman had run
out on Michael Cole. Yet, all the same, such a feeling was one not
easily forgotten.
    So proud was Michael that his pretty
Dominican had not deserted him, that it took a tick of the clock
for him to notice that she was not alone. A very tall, very broad
man with a shaved head, wearing a ridiculous light purple
button-down shirt stood over her. His index finger was jabbing the
air mere centimeters from Trista’s face.
    Rage began to boil inside Michael. Heated by
a white hot fire, he quickened his pace, shooting straight down the
hall