Brownie points to anyone who can guess from which novel my new screenname originates.
It was well past dark-fall; the sky was of the deepest inky shade, intersected only with bright silver stars and the pale, half-shaded moon. William tipped his face to the sky, breathing in deeply, his hands jammed into the pockets that donned the sides of his jacket. He had always loved the night- enjoyed the stillness and the semblance of peace that it brought in its wake. Everything seemed softer; shaded with pastel shadows, sharp edges lost in the darkness. The constellations he loved too, and he clung tightly to the memories that hid behind them. His mother had taught him and Susannah to recognize the patterns of the skies, and William had learned that each constellation had a name and a story. These stories had fascinated him as a child, and led him into all sorts of discoveries, given him cause to discover legends and myths and religions. In fact, it was his mother's teachings that had awakened his curious mind and his love of reading, and finding out everything he could- unveiling the mysteries of the world. William had been asking delighted questions long after Susannah's had run dry, and most his mother had been unable to answer, leading William to seek his answers himself. The memory of his mother caused William's throat to tighten; he wished that she were still alive. His mother had made many mistakes, but she had been the kindest person that William had ever known, ever-sympathetic, ever-ready to dole out advice to anyone who needed it. As he breathed in the warm night air, he thought briefly of her, and then pushed it to the back of his mind. It would do no good to languish and grieve on such a dazzling night. His mind returned to a pleasanter place, one that was bright and happy, and came in the form of one Julia Ogden. He missed her, of course, beyond words. A million calls forwarded and text messages exchanged couldn't change that, as he had hoped. Julia's stretch of time with him had been shining, and gold, but brief… his life had returned to its monotonous gray shade, save several days of harshly edged annoyance. William wondered just how long it would be before he would see her again, face to face, and despaired at the possibility that it would be quite some time. Moodily- although he had a moment ago reprimanded himself for being morose- he scratched at the side of his head, watching cars and trucks whiz by with their rumbling din, overlapping the sounds of the evening. Across the polished street was a bar, gaily lit, and as he looked upon it, the door opened. A man, his features hidden in gloom, stumbled to a halt as soon as he could, swaying where he stood. It was clear to William, even from this distance, that the man was severely intoxicated. A woman swung open the door and appeared to be talking to him, calmly but firmly. William frowned, hoping he wasn't to enter any sort of automobile. A drunk driver had killed his mother, and that coupled with an alcoholic father had given him a strong aversion to any sort of alcohol, or places that provided it. He leaned forward, concerned, as the man took on an angry demeanor, and the woman shrunk back. Unless he intervened, things could go very wrong, as he well knew. "Hey!" William called, striding forward and crossing the now-silent road. The woman was plainly a barmaid, evicting the man from the establishment, and there was something vaguely familiar about her face. William didn't linger on this, however, as he laid a hand on the inebriated man's shoulder. "Sir, I think that you should leave. I don't-"
As the man turned, rapidly, William's throat tightened. His mouth gasped, but the words would not come as he beheld the face that had so long haunted his waking nightmares. It was his father, straight out of William's memory, alcohol-soured breath, unfocused eyes and all. His father's eyes bugged, and his jaw slackened, and when he spoke, his voice was slurred.
"Will? Will, is that you? I was just tryin' to- I just want another drink. You understand, don't you, Will? This lady here- she wouldn' let me- tryin' to kick me out-"
"With good reason," William replied, coldly, his hand tightening on his father's shoulder. "I don't doubt that you were causing trouble, and it's within her rights to remove you from the business she represents. Go home, Harry, and sleep it off."
Harry Murdoch stared up at his now-taller son with droopy, bloodshot eyes. "I don't have a home any more, Will," he garbled, "they kicked me out just this morning. That's why I was here, you see, drowning my sorrows. Say… Will, could you spare a bed for your old pa? It'll be the streets for me if you don't. Just one night, Will, what do you say?"
William's mouth thinned into a hard line as he regarded the wretched man before him, the one that he had once affectionately called Dad. He knew what the right thing to do was- he knew what Susannah would do, had she been in his place. But he also knew what Harry Murdoch had done, what he would always do. He remembered too well the fear, and the pain, and the helplessness, and these memories fuelled his icy lack of sympathy. "No," he said simply, pulling his phone from his pocket and beginning to dial. "I will call you a cab, and you can direct it to any hotel of your choosing. From there, your path is your own." The dial tone rang listlessly in his ear, interrupted suddenly by an inquiring voice. William's tone was balanced, not at all reflecting the whirlwind of terrible emotions within him. He politely requested a cab, gave his current whereabouts, and then hung up. "It should be here within five minutes."
Harry's face was beginning to redden, both with a muddled sort of anger and disbelief. "I lost my job! I can't pay for a cab, or a hotel. Are you… are you going to…"
"No, I will not pay," responded William, managing to maintain his façade of deadly serenity. "I owe you nothing, and I will not provide for you, especially as your misfortune is of your own doing. Your situation is your fault, and no one else's."
His father stiffened, clenching his fists. "I'll speak to Susie. She'll understand," he grunted, and then he took an unsteady step backwards as William advanced, fury coursing through his veins with savage purpose.
"You don't get to speak to Susannah," he fumed, still quiet. "You don't even get to speak of Susannah."
What would have happened next, had it not been for the battered yellow cab that had skittered up to the curb, was anyone's guess. William hadn't felt such anger in a long while, and anger it was; true and feral rage that had been trapped within his mind for a very long time. Almost trembling with the intensity of it, William stepped aside, allowing Harry to pass and half-fall into the cab. As it screeched away, he released his pent-up breath and turned. "I am sorry for my father's actions tonight."
"Don't be," replied the blonde woman, still wide-eyed. "It's not your fault. Susannah told me about him, but I never thought…" she trailed off at William's inquiring glance. "Oh! I'm Anna, a friend of your sister's." Her British accent lilted charmingly, and William noticed for the first time that she was rather pretty. He offered her a slightly weary smile.
"I'm sorry- I'm sure we've met. I'm just rather tired. If you'll excuse me, I'd best be off, actually." He wanted time to call Julia- he needed to hear her, in order to soothe himself- before he retired to his home. Sparing Anna a final glance as he began to walk briskly away, his fingers began to punch in the number that he knew so well.
Julia answered on the first ring, her voice low and oddly urgent, which sent alarm bells ringing in William's head.
"Julia?" he asked, cautiously. "Is everything all right?"
"Everything's fine, William," Julia reassured him, at once. "I was just about to call you. Well… I am in a bit of trouble, but Thomas is working on it. He's assured me that there's absolutely nothing to worry about, in terms of legal action, though the production company is somewhat put out with me. Thankfully, we only had a few scenes left…"
William held up a hand, though he was aware that she could not see him. "Wait… Julia. What are you talking about? Legal action? What have you done? Are you hurt?"
"I broke Darcy Garland's nose," Julia said proudly. "Apparently, he's having plastic surgery to put it right again. I think Thomas was attempting to make me feel guilty by telling me that, but on the contrary, I felt better. Darcy had been looking for a chance to get some work done without eliciting scorn from the media, and I'm glad to have been able to provide such an opportunity." Strong satisfaction saturated her tone.
He blinked, unable to say anything more than "Why?"
There was somewhat of a strained pause on the other end of the line, and then Julia laughed self-consciously. "He kissed me. Um… a little bit. I pulled away, of course, and told him off, but he tried again. I considered that a physical assault, and reacted defensively." A snort registered. "In all honesty, I didn't have to punch him, but I wanted to. He's lucky I decided on the face- I considered much more painful places."
William, too, managed a laugh at this. "And no one caught it on camera?" he questioned, immediately concerned. "Does anyone know? Will you-"
"It's all okay. Apparently, Darcy wanted to tell the papers that I was a 'deranged lunatic', but he was talked out of it." Clearly, Julia was not taking any of this seriously. She sounded amused and light, now that she had told William, and he had no trouble imagining her mischievous smile. She continued. "So, what's up with you in Toronto?"
It was William's turn to hesitate. He had originally intended to discuss his father with Julia, but as time wore on, he grew less and less willing to. As he had with so many dreadful memories, he buried today's, tucking it away where it would not be encountered again. He had no desire for reassurances, or falsified comforts; talking to Julia was enough. "Nothing interesting, really. I take it you're still in Utah?"
"Yes. Thomas had to fly out. I'll be home soon, and then I'll be heading to Toronto."
William's world brightened momentarily. "Really? So soon? Whatever for?"
"Unfortunately," she teased, "not just to see you. I'm filming a television segment, so you won't have me completely to yourself- more's the pity."
An answering smile spread across his face. "I'll still take it." He opened his mouth, as to ask exactly when he could expect her, but was interrupted by the hum of his phone. "Julia, somebody else is calling. I'll put you on hold." The button clicked, he transferred lines, with a very professional greeting. "William Murdoch speaking."
"Will? It's me- Susannah. I'm sorry for calling at such a late hour… but I had to talk to someone. Something has happened."
"What? What is it?" Protectiveness set in; the cords in William's arms tightened as he waited for a reply. There was something odd about the way in which Susannah spoke; a raggedness that made William feel as though she was holding back a torrent of emotion. "Is it Harry? Has he come to you? Stay put, stay exactly where you are, I'll be there-"
"It's not Harry. I haven't seen him in years. It's… I've been feeling odd in recent days. Off, in a way, though it's hard to describe. I went to the doctor's for a routine checkup, and they spotted something… unusual. I was sent for further tests. I've just gotten out of those now."
"And?" There was a knot of tension in William's belly that curled tighter with every beat of quiet, lengthy as each of them seemed to him. "Everything's all right, isn't it?"
"William." There was a sigh of resignation. "I have pancreatic cancer."