Tears of the Wolf by Sharon Buchbinder

Author:Sharon Buchbinder [Buchbinder, Sharon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ghosts; Paranormal; Shapeshifters; Werewolves; Native American; Serial Killer; Small Town; Romantic Suspense; Fantasy; Western; Paranormal & Urban; We
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2020-09-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Cowboy Motel~*~ Billings, Montana

Wearing a black hoodie over a plain T-shirt, and jeans, the Doctor rapped on number three’s apartment door at the rundown motel. The door cracked open, and an orange-tinged eyeball stared at him. The old man slid the chain back, revealing a shabby room.

“You came,” he croaked, disbelief mirrored in his voice and face. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

The Doctor glanced over his shoulder. It was after sundown and he was dressed in dark clothing, but he had no interest in being spotted by a random prostitute or john stumbling around the parking lot. “Can I come in?”

“Please.” The elder opened the door and stepped back. “Sorry, I’m in a state of shock. You’re actually here.”

The Doctor slid into the room and glanced around. Threadbare vomit green carpet. An orange countertop by the crappy bathroom area. A sagging queen-sized bed, no doubt crawling with bedbugs, squatted alongside a battered brown nightstand. Propped against the wall, an ancient TV with a sign indicating it was attached to a burglary system looked as if it wished it could vanish into the faux wood paneling. And a lone wooden chair stood by the heater.

The Doctor took a seat and crossed his ankles, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “Nice place,” he said, without even attempting to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

“Cheap and crappy. Like me.” His pappy shrugged and sat on the bed facing him. “You have every right to hate me.”

“I do admit, I was very angry at you for many years.” The Doctor nodded. “But you know who really pissed me off?”

His father shook his head, a bewildered expression on his face.

“Rose.” He slapped his thigh with a palm. “My beautiful, hard-working mother who abandoned me not long after you disappeared.”

The old man frowned. “Son, she died.”

“A little too convenient, wouldn’t you say?”

“You think she died on purpose?”

“She had a child—two children—to care for. She gave one up and kept her favorite. Me.” He nodded, thinking back to those halcyon days when it was only him and his mother. The trips to the parks, visits to museums. Anything free that was open on her days off was fair game for their time together.

“I’m not following, son.”

“Stop calling me son.” The Doctor slammed his fist on the arm of the chair. “You were a sperm donor, nothing more.”

“But she had heart disease—”

“Shut up. You worthless piece of shit. She had a responsibility to take care of herself, to be there for me, her chosen child. Any mother who truly cared for her child would train like an athlete to be there day and night for him.”

The old man stood, shaky on his feet, and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t understand. You’re a Doctor. Why are you blaming her for her illness?”

“I hear this every freaking day from whiny bitches. ‘I’m sick, I can’t help it.’ They can help it. They don’t want to control their impulses.”

His so-called father shuffled away from him toward the bathroom.

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