The Complete Book Of Fallen Angels by Valmore Daniels

Author:Valmore Daniels [Daniels, Valmore]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fallen Angels
Publisher: Mummer Media
Published: 2014-06-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

It was late into the evening. Hollingsworth arranged to have the journals brought to an unused office in the police station, where I could read them undisturbed.

I told him it would most likely take me a long while to go through them.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

The expression on his face was miserable. “I’m going to visit Vanderburgh’s family, give them the news.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, both for the loss of his partner, and that he was the one who had to undertake the unpleasant task of informing next of kin. I’d had to deliver such news in the past, and it always left me feeling bad for the family.

Hollingsworth pulled at his shirt. “After that, I’m going to go home, take a shower, drink a fifth of scotch, and maybe get a little sleep. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Pointing at a long couch pressed up against the wall opposite the desk, he said, “If you need to crash, no one will bother you. You can use the locker room to shower, and there’s a small kitchen down the hall where you can get something to eat.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Once he left, I turned to the last journal and cracked it open. Even before reading the first entry, I closed it. Though I was certain my father had written clues to the nature of OrganKnit in the last journal, there was something I needed to know first.

In Tim’s note, he’d stated that he hadn’t included the introductory entry, which my father would have written right after my mother’s death. What possible reason would the intern have to hold off transcribing it?

One assumption was that the journal entry in question was of a personal nature, unlike all the other entries he’d made over the years. Perhaps my father had detailed his grief in those pages.

If that was true, then it was a complete reversal of how he’d been throughout his life. My father and I had never had the kind of relationship where we shared our feelings with each other. In fact, he wasn’t likely to share his feelings with anyone. I often wondered what my mother had seen in him. Many times in my life I’d overhead people talk about my father, calling him such things as ‘robot’, ‘cold fish’, and ‘stone heart’.

There had never been a time when he’d been anything but cool and distant toward everyone. It had been a hard way for me to grow up.

Even after my mother had died, I’d never seen him succumb to grief or anger. He’d seemed to take her death in stride.

A part of me was angry that he hadn’t shared his feelings with me then. It had been a wretched period in my life, and I’d needed him to be there for me emotionally. Instead, he’d buried himself in his work and had left me to climb out of the pit of my despair and grief by myself.

Andrea had told me she thought he’d been just as overcome with loss as I had and didn’t know how to relate his feelings to me.

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