Murder Deja Vu

another Civic. He sat there, unable to move.
    Overwhelmed by the same insecurities he experienced at Steve Yarrow’s vet practice, he questioned whether he should have phoned ahead and said, Hey, coming to see my father today. Make sure the cops are waiting.
    Well, he couldn’t turn back now. He’d do what he came to do, even if it meant discovery. His clock was ticking down anyway. He’d get inside that room, and if the man who’d shunned him as if he were a leper was coherent enough to understand him, he’d say what he had to say and get the hell out.
    Reece scanned the parking lot once more to bolster his illusion of safety. When he went to shut off his cell phone, he discovered it was already off. Unused to modern technology, especially phones, he’d shut it off after talking to Clarence without realizing it. Just as well. He didn’t want anyone to talk him out of the risk he was taking. The risk he had to take.
    He slipped out of the car, closing the door quietly behind him. His insides shook, but not from fear of his father. Reece had never been afraid of the man. Although Thom Daughtry could be aloof, he’d never been abusive or mean. He expected excellence and Reece had never disappointed.
    His father’s life revolved around his business. He went to work at the crack of dawn and came home late at night. Little camaraderie existed between him and his sons, but there’d always been love and respect.
    Until Reece’s arrest. Then everything changed.
    Reece walked to the door, confident, as if he should be there. The thought struck that his father might be under police guard. Maybe they expected Reece to do him harm? Why not? They already suspected he was the maniacal murderer of three women.
    Peeking through the open blind, he saw only the end of the bed, feet tenting the cover, and no one in the room. He tested the door. Locked, as expected. He withdrew a credit card from his wallet and hoped it worked. Twenty years ago this would never have occurred to him, but prison taught him a few things he never imagined he’d need. He couldn’t use the card for anything else anyway. One swipe and the police would be on him before he could pocket it.
    Sliding the card into the space between the door jamb and the lock, he pushed back, and turned the knob. It opened. Hmm, too easy. Didn’t people waiting to die require safety from the outside world? Or did easy entry indicate a trap for a wanted man?
    A blast of cool air hit him first, then the antiseptic smell that never hid the odor of decay. Different from the stench of testosterone, body odor, and desperation he’d endured in prison, but somehow exuding the same dull feeling of hopelessness.
    Reece scanned the room. The sleeping man lay motionless, wired to monitors, a steady beep the only sound. A table and two chairs occupied the opposite corner of the room—a watchful attendant’s place—replete with magazines and bottled water. Reece entered cautiously. Any change in the old man’s heart rate, and the machines would alert the nurses’ station. They’d barrel through the door and it’d be all over. Warning enough to make the visit quick.
    He hadn’t seen his father in twenty-one years. They’d both changed dramatically. He stood at the bedside, looking down at the old man, his once powerful physique a shadow of the man Reece knew as a child. But then Reece had changed too since his father last saw him. He couldn’t help comparing him to Frank. How could his two fathers be wasting away before his eyes?
    As if sensing a presence, Thom Daughtry opened his eyes. His gaze wandered toward his visitor. Recognition came slowly, but it came. “Reece,” he said in an old man’s voice.
    “Hello, Dad.” At that word— Dad —something hit Reece hard, and he struggled to contain the emotions swelling within him.
    “You’ve changed,” his father said.
    Reece nodded. “In many ways, yes.”
    Thom Daughtry swallowed, a gulping sound. Tears welled in his eyes, and he breathed a few short breaths through his nose. He took a moment before he spoke. “I’m…I’m sorry, son.”
    Reece choked back the pain of those words. He imagined this moment would engender anger or something stronger—rage. But he felt only as if his body had abandoned him, leaving him numb and disconnected.
    “I’m sorry too, Dad.” Only Reece didn’t know exactly what he was sorry for. Because he’d been such a disappointment in his father’s eyes? Or that his father had