Chapter 19

Philip Montgomery Roberts was a failure. He would never admit it to anyone else, of course. His reputation as a shrewd salesman, even if it were only in his own mind, simply wouldn’t allow it. But on nights like this, watching the flames in the fireplace lick the air while his wife read some sort of magazine, it didn’t take a great deal of soul-searching or introspection to plot out the moments in his life where he took the wrong road. He was nothing if not honest with himself.

He realized, decades ago, that it all came down to self-discipline, or more accurately, his utter lack of it. Any time his school teachers or his first employers said that tasks could be done properly or they could be done quickly, he had always been the first to finish. It was a rare moment indeed that saw the man go the extra mile for anything. He had made it this far in life not by hard work and dedication but by taking the path of least resistance.

It was a character flaw that troubled him deeply, but doing something about it when he was young and energetic had been a failure, primarily because he hadn’t put in anywhere near the effort needed to succeed. Now that he was older, the whole enterprise just seemed too much like hard work.

None of this was to say he hadn’t done pretty well for himself. He always wanted to be a fighter pilot; he could never explain why, but soaring through the sky just felt like the absolute definition of freedom. When he found out how much education was required before you could even begin training, plus the peak physical condition pilots were expected to maintain, he gave up on the idea before he even started. Instead, he found himself in the illustrious field of used car sales. His opposition to gyms, healthy eating, and educational institutions aside, he found that he actually had a natural way with people. He could spot potential serious customers a mile away, easily able to distinguish the window shoppers from the ones he could convince to buy. No matter what kind of shopper they were, Phil knew how to take them for everything they were worth.

His monthly salary was respectable enough. It would never raise eyebrows, but it was enough to get by. His commission payments, on the other hand, were enormous. He was consistently ranked as the top salesman in whichever dealership he worked at. His employers overlooked his abrasive personality, general disinterest in paperwork, and fleeting relationship with personal hygiene for one simple fact ... he made them money. The last dealer he worked for fired him for an infraction of some company policy or another. He had shrugged, walked down the road to his largest competitor, and had a new job by that afternoon. His old boss watched his sales numbers drop by more than twenty percent, while his new boss sat back and watched his sales numbers soar. His pay packet swelled, but Phil just couldn’t muster up the effort required to care.

Work was a means to an end. Some people enjoy working, not for the money, but because they like what they do, they find it rewarding, or simply because they enjoy the challenge. Phil worked because he had to. That was it. If he could find a way to live as well as he did without getting off his ass again for the rest of his life, he would jump at the chance.

Well, maybe not jump, but he would walk with a slightly more brisk pace than normal to get it.

He cast a look at his wife. Her nose was buried in a magazine about the latest Paris fashions they both knew he wasn’t going to buy for her. Where he didn’t really give much of a shit how he looked when not at work, she was still wearing a face full of make-up, even at this late hour. Her hair was still immaculately pinned in place, and her long, manicured fingers scraped along the pages as she turned them.

Thirty-one years. That’s how long he had been married to Debbie. She had been gorgeous when they met. Introduced at a bar one night, he assumed that she wouldn’t be interested in him, so like everything else in his life, he hadn’t bothered paying much attention to her, much less pursue her. As a woman used to being fawned over by every heterosexual male in the room, his lack of interest in her had been intriguing. Phil unwittingly became the first conversation she had been in for years that didn’t involve flirting. The intrigue turned to attraction; attraction turned to obsession, until one day, she had dropped to her knees in the alleyway behind their local bar, right behind the trash cans, and milked his balls into her mouth for no other reason than to let him know she was interested.

Daddy issues and a constant yearning for the approval of aloof men had their uses.

He didn’t know if he had given her a happy life, and he wasn’t even sure if he cared. She had never had to work a day in her life; that seemed to be enough for her to stick around. Over the years, they fell into that stagnant pattern. He worked to make the money that allowed her to have all the pretty clothes she wanted - if they were reasonably priced - and all the make-up she needed to hold onto her fading youthful looks. In return, she fucked him. It was hardly the thing that romance novels were made of, but it was easy.

There had only been that one hiccup, the one event that almost broke him. It was, to him, the perfect demonstration of how effort was wasted on something as unpredictable as life. He had allowed himself to get caught up in the moment; he had felt the elation of success; real, meaningful success. For the briefest of moments, he had been part of something bigger than himself.

He’d known genuine happiness for the first time in his life.

And then, it collapsed around him in ruins.

There was nothing in the world that could wipe away the pain. There were still those occasional moments when simply looking at her brought it all back. He shook his head clear and clamped down hard on that feeling. He didn’t allow himself to think of it anymore and, instead, went back to frowning at the fireplace.

As bad as things were at that point in his life, he made them worse by knocking Debbie up before they had recovered from... it. It wasn’t planned; it certainly wasn’t wanted. He was too lazy to buy condoms, so pumped her womb full instead. That choice left him encumbered with a son he didn’t want in a society that expected every parent to be a doting model of affection. For the most part, he never told people he had a kid. That seemed to be the easiest way to avoid talking about him. For people closer to the ‘family’ - a word that made his eyes roll almost hard enough to hear them - it was unavoidable that they would be introduced to Pete, so Pete was expected to play along.

Except Pete never played along. It wasn’t enough to have a roof over his head, clothes on his back, and money spent on those stupid fucking video games. Not to mention wasting time forcing Phil to pretend to be interested in parent-teacher conferences. No, it had been one embarrassing disappointment after another. Debbie, being the social butterfly she was - or at least the one she wanted to be - insisted they have a social life. Phil didn’t care, so let her carry on. That led to them joining the rotary club to look more respectable. Phil didn’t care about that either, but sure, anything for a quiet life. That led them to attend god knows how many teeth-grinding social events, galas, dinners, and whatever else those fucking clowns insisted on doing. Phil hated every moment of it, but he did it because Debbie would complain if he didn’t. That, and she usually rewarded him with a blowjob afterward. Pete, on the other hand, seemed to treat every one of those as an opportunity to act up. He would embarrass Debbie, Debbie would yell at Phil, Phil would be forced to discipline Pete, and Phil wouldn’t get his dick sucked.

In every fight Phil was forced to endure with his incandescent wife, she brought up what he lost over and over again, and Pete was the cause of most of them.

Phil had only ever been able to see Pete as a walking, talking reminder of pain.

It was hardly what a father was supposed to think about his son, but like he always said; he was nothing if not honest with himself.

Besides, it was all in the past, and doing anything about it, even if Phil wanted to, required energy that he just couldn’t be bothered to expend. It was easier to think of something else.

A doctor once told him that he could be suffering from some form of undiagnosed long-term depression. Phil had rejected the idea out of hand. He wasn’t unhappy; he just didn’t care. The doctor said something about that not being how depression worked, that it came in many forms, with one being an inability to feel enthusiasm for anything and nothing ever feeling important. That sounded more accurate, but Phil didn’t bother going to the follow-up appointments that were made.

Every now and again, he would have moments like these. Moments of profound reflection, when that overwhelming indifference parted for just long enough to let him see how much of an utter disaster his life had been. In every way a man could be measured, he had failed. Those moments were filled with memories of the things he had done, the apathy shown towards a beautiful woman who loved him, and the overzealous, bordering on cruel severity of the discipline he had doled out to his son. And, of course, there was Sean ... the hiccup ... He had failed all of them.

He had robbed his wife of her youthful spirit, sapped her of her optimism, and taken advantage of her insecurities to get what he wanted. He knew how much she cared about him, but he had never been able to bring himself to say the three words he knew she wanted to hear. He didn’t want to make her happy because he wanted her to be happy. He did it for an easy life. In these moments of clarity, he understood that this was not how it was meant to be, but he also knew that in a little while, the clouds would roll in again, and he wouldn’t care.

He knew, deep down, that there was something very wrong with him.

And then there was Pete. Phil could not for the life of him understand how he was still a free man. Some of the things he had done to that boy were not only morally reprehensible, they were downright criminal. All Pete ever had to do was tell a teacher, or a parent of a friend, or someone, and that would have been it. Police and social services would have knocked down his door and justifiably dragged him off to face punishment, but the boy never said anything; he had kept his father’s secret. Then he had broken the Roberts family tradition by heading out into the world and actually trying to make something of himself. It was more than Phil had ever done, which was more than his father had ever done. Phil knew he should be proud, but he had never been able to develop that feeling. There was only the shame at what he had done, then the clouds would descend, and there would be ... nothing.

Of course, there was the reason that he allowed his blind hatred of Pete to blaze to the surface every time he lost his temper. The one image that rippled over his retina every time he looked at Pete

Sean.

I’m Sorry, Mister Roberts. There was nothing we could do. He’s gone.

Phil felt that knot of pain clutch at his chest again; that lump in his throat throbbed around his attempts to swallow it, and his vision misted behind the tears. Everything had been so perfect.

He was jerked from his memories by a sudden, deafening crash as the front door was kicked in. The frame splintered, the frosted glass in the ornate wooden frame shattered, and his wife screamed as three men burst into the room wielding terrifying-looking weapons. Two more men quickly followed them and made straight for the stairs. Phil was on his feet in a heartbeat. He had probably not moved that fast since he was in high school, but the sudden spike in adrenaline allowed him to ignore the protests of his muscles. Debbie jumped up as well, but Phil grabbed her wrist and tugged her behind him, putting himself between her and the gunmen.

“Search the house!” The first man barked as he leveled his rifle at Phil. One of the men next to him peeled off and headed for the kitchen.

Phil could only listen in stunned silence to the clambering sounds of men stomping around on the floor above them, kicking in the doors of one bedroom after another, and the crashes as they turned over furniture in their search for ... whatever they were looking for.

“What do you want?” He managed to mumble, his eyes unable to move away from the business end of the rifle aimed at him.

The masked man stepped forward, putting his face only a few inches from Phil’s. He could smell the cigarettes on his breath. “Your son,” the man growled.

“I ... I don’t know. We haven’t spoken in years!” He stammered.

“I know you visited him in the hospital a few months ago!”

“Then you would know we were kicked out because he didn’t want to see us.” He retorted. Debbie was pressed into the back of him; he could feel her shoulders shaking with the fearful sobs she was breathing into the back of his neck.

The man straightened himself up and glanced over his shoulder at the second man standing next to him. The other three intruders were starting to filter back into the living room now and had taken up places looking out the windows.

The second man took a breath and stepped forward. Phil’s eyes moved from the first man to the approaching second. His head swam as he looked into those piercing eyes. Whereas the four other men of the group had their weapons up and at the ready, this man had his lazily pointing at the floor as if he was carrying it for show more than anything else. He stared at Phil for a few seconds; that feeling of his eyes swimming grew with every passing one until he turned and looked at the first man. “He’s human; he’s telling the truth,” He said softly. “The nurse doubted they would know.”

“Fuck!” The first man spat. “We know he left the apartment above the pub.”

“The friend?” The second man suggested.

“Gone. Left for the holidays. The nurse doesn’t know where and it could be weeks before he is back.”

The second man thought for a moment. “Then we’ll have to try the friend’s girlfriend. Maybe he can be convinced to come back. I can’t think of any other people who would know where he’s gone.”

“He’s hiding,” The first man snorted. “He knows we are coming for him.”

“If you think he is hiding, you are more of a fool than I thought. He is hunting!”

The first man paused. “We need to wrap this up quickly. The boss is planning something big, and this target is the only loose end that can fuck things up.”

“I strongly advise caution. I have seen him in action. If you challenge him head-on, you won’t survive. Getting him to give himself up willingly is the only way to do this safely, let alone quietly. The attack on the party was an unmitigated disaster. We can’t afford another repeat of that.”

“I know!” the first man hissed. “It would be wise for you to remember who you are talking to.”

The second man’s eyes creased with a smile that was hidden by the rest of his mask. “Oh, I know who I am talking to, Jean-Pierre. Failure at this point would be extremely hazardous to your health! Take the girlfriend, take the friend’s girlfriend, and find him!”