How could he not hear the door slam?
It was all that was running through my mind as Henry approached the kid, who still wasn't moving or even seemingly even aware there was anyone else in the room with him.
Why wasn't he turning around?
How could he not have heard the door?
I stepped up to the glass, flicking the speaker on so I could hear what was about to happen.
I resisted the impulse to follow Henry in. Whatever he did, I couldn't stop him now even if I wanted to.
I was still clinging to the feeble, almost desperate, hope that I wouldn't have to.
Mike suddenly turned around when Henry was two steps away from him. He blinked, clearly surprised to see someone else in the room with him.
"Who--?" he started to ask, But Henry wasn't in any mood to make small-talk.
"Just tell me one thing," he growled, kicking the chair opposite him out and sliding into it. "When you hit my son with your car and left him for dead, how much time did you spend actually thinking about calling for help?"
The kid's mouth dropped open in shock at the point-blank, angry demand, but he couldn't even utter a syllable.
Not that Henry wanted to hear anything from him, anyway.
"I mean it!" he snapped a moment later, not giving Mike enough time to respond even if he wanted to. "I want to know how much thought my son's life is worth. Ten seconds? Five? Did it even occur to you at all? Or did you just dump him the second it happened?"
Mike was shaking his head adamantly now, the color returning to his sallow cheeks as he finally managed to get a word out.
"I didn't—I mean—I thought about it!"
"And you decided what?" Henry shouted, standing up again, almost knocking his chair over. "That his life was less important than yours? That it was just easier for him to die than for you to fess up and deal with the consequences?"
"No! I just--" Mike stopped himself, looking down at the table again. I could hear the strain in his voice, the regret.
It was just a stupid accident that went too far.
And he was going to jail for a long time. Nothing could stop that now.
In one night, in one moment, he had ruined his entire life and very nearly destroyed four others. And he knew it.
Henry groaned, sitting down again. The anger had dissipated from his demeanor now, replaced by a world-weary exhaustion.
"I thought he was dead," he said so quietly the speaker scarcely picked up the words. "I spent twelve hours thinking my son was dead. Do you have any idea what the hell that feels like? To spend twelve hours not being able to think about anything but putting a bullet through the son of a bitch's head who murdered your son?"
"No," Mike whispered hoarsely, closing his eyes. "I don't. I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"
"You didn't mean to hit him," Henry cut him off, his tone stronger and suddenly ice cold. "That was an accident. But you meant to leave him to die. You meant to do that. You had a choice."
Mike leaned across the table, meeting Henry's gaze steadily for the first time. His eyes were bloodshot and ringed with black circles, but they were pleading and absolutely sincere.
"I'm sorry…I don't know what else--" he stopped, inhaling sharply as the emotions washed over him. "If I could take it back…"
"Would you?" Henry asked quietly, leaning forward, his eyes penetrating through Mike like a hot knife. "Would you take it back if you could?"
For a long moment, Mike didn't answer.
"I have to know," Henry pressed on. "You owe me that much. If you could go back and change it all, would you? Or would you just not get caught?"
Mike nodded slowly. "I'd change it…all of it. If I could get that one moment back…"
Henry smiled palely to himself, suddenly adrift in a memory Mike couldn't have guessed at if he tried.
I had a sneaking suspicion I knew what Henry was remembering as he gazed around at the walls of the interrogation room where he had spent most his career and Shawn had spent one particularly devastating night as a teenager.
"That's the thing about moments, Kid…" he murmured, standing up again. "You can't get them back. I know. I've tried."