Ch. 10 Game of Catch, Dad?
"He's
dead." Jesse had crouched beside Hanning's body to feel for a
pulse. He looked up at Mark in relief, but the older man didn't see.
He was staring at the gun. It was Steve's gun, the one he had just
put into the kitchen drawer. Yet it had been on the coffee table just
in time to save him. Coming into play just when he needed it. Like
Steve had been, always rushing in with officers to arrest whomever
Mark was trapping with their own words.
As
Mark stood staring at the gun in his hand, he was immersed in a
sudden feeling of warmth. Steve's scent, so strong in his own rooms
downstairs and blended with Mark's in the shared rooms, suddenly
overpowered all else. It was like being wrapped in one of the more
rare hugs between the two men. Steve's presence enveloped him. There
was a distinct feeling of love and sorrow in Mark's mind, offset by a
feeling of great joy that was completely out of place for Mark. Not
his emotions.
Tears
formed again in Mark's eyes and he closed them. The now ever-present
image of his son's limp body falling still for the last time was
gone. Mark could see the beach outside at sunset. Steve stood there,
twenty-five feet away, a baseball mitt on one hand, and ball in the
other. He smiled warmly at his father.
"Game
of catch, Dad?" Mark could only stare, tears starting to fall
from his closed eyes. Steve's smile warmed. He cocked his head to the
side, face softening, and eyes bright with happiness. "I love
you, Dad." Mark gasped and opened his eyes in an almost
involuntary movement. Jesse was giving him an odd look that was
sadness and confusion, but enough understanding to make it unusual.
Mark smiled very lightly, very shakily.
//I
love you too, son.//
Across
the room, the baseball that always sat on a mitt on the shelf fell
from its place.
The End