Transcription by Ike Hamill Read Free Book Online

nobody. “This is some really twisted shit.” Ron shook his head. “I knew he was in a dark place, but Jesus.”
    “Hey, Ron?” his father called from the living room. “You’ll never believe who just got on base. Get in here—you’re going to miss the collapse.”
    Ron was engrossed in what he was reading. He flipped to the next page and didn’t reply.
    “Ronnie?” his father called again.  
    James heard footsteps. His father was coming down the hall.
    Before he was halfway down the hall, Thomas was already yelling. “Ron, no! Put that down! You can’t read that. What the fuck are you doing?”
    Thomas arrived in a fairly inebriated stagger. He slapped the document out of Ron’s hand and then fell to his knees to flip the thing over, so the type faced the floor.
    “Oh, Jesus, Ron! What did you do?”
    “Take it easy, Tommy, I was just curious what you’ve been so engrossed with.”
    “You don’t understand, Ron,” Thomas said. He looked up and saw his son looking at him. He reached up and closed the door to his son’s bedroom. James hustled over to the door and pressed his ear against it, so he could heard the rest of the conversation.
    “This story is dark, Tom. I don’t know what you’re planning on doing with it, but you’re going to pigeonhole yourself into a very small set of magazines if you keep writing stuff this sinister. Maybe you could flesh it out with some more character development and take some of the edge off?”
    “No, Ron, it’s not like that.”
    “When did you start on fiction, anyway?”
    “It’s not fiction,” his father said. His voice changed as he stood up. “Ron, we have to figure out what to do. You’re in deep shit and you don’t even know.”
    “What? What do you mean? Wait, is this some confidential record of a crime or something? Who said I can’t read it?”
    “Shit, shit, shit. I don’t even know where to start,” Thomas said.
    James heard a door shut and then feet moving down the hall. When he was sure they had gone, James cracked open his own door. The door across the hall was closed. James looked back and forth once more, and then slipped across. The knob turned but the door wouldn’t open. His father had locked it for the first time.
    James crawled down the hall and stopped at the corner in order to hear.
    “You can’t be serious,” Ron said.
    James couldn’t hear his father’s response. Whatever he said made Ron laugh.
    They argued. James could only hear the tone—his father was angry and Ron sounded concerned. James considered risking his luck with a dash to the back of the couch. If he could duck behind that, he could creep close enough to hear what they were saying. He debated too long, and the next thing he heard was the front door shutting.
    Feet paced in the living room.
    James peeked around the corner to see his father walking back and forth. One hand was on his stomach, the other against the side of his head. His father looked like he would be ill.
    Before his mother had died, James had maintained a clear, steady picture of his dad. The man was happy, hard-working, and kind. He worked a lot, but always had time for his wife and son. Ever since his mom had died, James didn’t know what to think about his dad. He seemed liked seven different people—one for each day of the week.  
    Thomas spotted his son, hiding behind the couch. He walked over and crouched in front of James.
    “You need to make me a promise,” Thomas said.
    James looked at him and didn’t say a word.
    “You can never, never go in that office, do you hear me?” Thomas said.
    James nodded twice.
    “Good. It’s very dangerous.”
    Thomas stood up and looked towards the door. He seemed unsure of what to do with himself.
    “Why do you go in there?” James blurted out. The question had been on his lips for weeks, but he didn’t know how to ask it.
    “Pardon?” his dad asked.
    “Why do you stay in there all night writing? I know you’re not on a job, because