Classic Passion: Origin
Copyright© 2026 by RedRambler
Chapter 8: Coming Home
July 16, 1962 – Dr. Reeves
Today marked my last day in the hospital. I’d packed my meager belongings and was waiting for Chief Simmons to pick me up when Dr. Reeves appeared in my doorway, his expression unreadable.
“Thomas, do you have a moment?” He closed the door behind him, something he never did during routine check-ups.
“Sure, Doc. Something wrong with my charts?”
He took the chair beside my bed, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. “This isn’t about your medical condition. It’s about Emily.”
My stomach dropped. I’d spent nearly every afternoon with Em since July 4th. Had I crossed some line I wasn’t aware of?
“What about her?”
“I’ve noticed ... changes in her recently.” He rubbed his jaw, searching for words. “She’s speaking up at dinner. She challenged her mother about taking an extra swimming class.
Yesterday, she announced she wants to join the school newspaper in the fall.”
I failed to see the problem. “And that’s ... bad?”
“It’s unexpected. Emily has always been...” He gestured vaguely. “Quieter. More reserved. Following along with whatever her mother and I suggested.”
“She’s still Em,” I said carefully. “She’s just finding her voice.”
Dr. Reeves studied me. “And you’ve been spending considerable time with my daughter.”
“We talk. That’s all.” I met his gaze directly. “Ever since the 4th, Em’s been keeping me company. We just talk about what we want out of life.”
“And what does Emily want, according to these conversations?”
I hesitated. Em’s confidences weren’t mine to share, but her father seemed genuinely concerned.
“She wants to travel. See the world beyond Lake Sebring as it really is. If you can ever get beyond that wall she hides behind, she is a very articulate girl.” I paused, weighing my next words.
“But she’s more driven to be what her parents see for her life. She thinks that disappointing you would be worse than giving up her own dreams.”
Dr. Reeves flinched as if I’d struck him.
“It’s not so different from what my grandparents are trying with me,” I added quietly. “Just ... less violent. They want me broken into the shape they chose. You want Em to follow a path you think is best for her.”
The doctor leaned back; there was shock written across his face. “That’s not, I would never...”
“I know you love her, sir. That’s the difference. My grandmother doesn’t love me.” I adjusted
the sling supporting my injured arm. “But love can still be a cage if it doesn’t make room for who someone really is.”
For a long moment, Dr. Reeves was silent. When he spoke again, his voice was rough. “You care about my daughter.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “I do.”
“And you’re encouraging her to, what? Rebel against her parents’ wishes?”
“No, sir. I’m just listening when she talks. Maybe that’s all she needed.”
He sighed heavily. “You’re not what I expected, Thomas.”
“I get that a lot.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “What would you suggest I do?”
“Talk to Emily. Not as her doctor or even as her father. Just ... listen to her. She’s got a lot to say if someone’s willing to hear it.”
Dr. Reeves nodded slowly. “You’re right. Though it’s humbling to receive parenting advice from a fourteen-year-old.”
“Fifteen in September,” I corrected, then added, “Life experience doesn’t always match age, Doc. You told me that yourself when I first came in.”
He stood, extending his hand. “Thank you, Thomas. For Emily, and for your honesty.”
I shook his hand, surprised by the gesture of respect. “Just don’t let her know we talked like this. She’d never forgive me.”
“Doctor-patient confidentiality,” he promised with a wink as he headed for the door. “It works both ways.”
Checking out
I was still watching the door swing shut behind Dr. Reeves when Coach O’Shanahan filled the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly touching both sides of the frame.
“Thought I’d catch you before I head out,” he said, dropping his duffel bag beside my bed.
“Flight leaves Orlando in three hours.”
“Back to Rochester?” I felt a pang at the thought of him leaving.
“Can’t let those hooligans at the CYO run wild all summer.” He ruffled my hair like I was still nine years old. “Though none of them give me half the trouble you do.”
I grinned. “It’s a gift.”
Coach sat heavily in the chair Dr. Reeves had vacated. “Look, Thomas, Chief Simmons told me about his offer. A place to stay, away from that woman.”
“I’m not taking it.”
“Don’t be stubborn. That house isn’t safe...”
“I know what I’m doing,” I interrupted. “Grandmother’s just a bully with delusions of self-importance. All that Unity Covenant stuff? She probably thinks it makes her special, important.”
Coach frowned. “A bully who paid Shanks to break your spirit by any means necessary.”
“Exactly. And that’s my ace in the hole.” I leaned forward, lowering my voice despite us being alone. “She cares about appearances more than anything. One whisper about what she authorized Shanks to do, and her precious reputation crumbles. Legal consequences aside, she’ll lose the one thing she values.”
Coach studied me for a long moment. “When did you get so calculating?”
“Around the time I was marching the quad with hypothermia.”
He winced. “Fair point.”
“I know how to handle her now. I’m not afraid anymore.”
Coach nodded slowly. “I believe you.” He stood, reaching for his bag. “Can’t wait to tell the kids at the gym what happened?”
I shook my head emphatically. “God, no. They don’t need to know.”
“They wouldn’t believe half of it anyway.”
“You think?”
Coach paused, his expression shifting to something grimmer. “Actually, they probably would. That’s the sad part.”
We both fell silent, acknowledging the truth in his words. “You’re welcome back anytime,” he finally said. “Rochester might be boring after all this Florida excitement, after all, there aren’t any water moccasins or alligators to wrestle there, but there’s always a place for you.”
I extended my good hand, which he shook firmly. “Thanks, Coach. For everything.”
As he disappeared down the hallway, I felt the absence of his presence immediately. But it wasn’t the hollow feeling of abandonment I’d expected. Instead, a strange sense of calm settled over me. Coach had come when I needed him most, then trusted me enough to let me handle things from here.
The door hadn’t been closed for five minutes when Chief Simmons appeared, jingling his car keys.
“Ready to bust out of this joint?” He leaned against the doorframe, looking uncomfortable in the sterile hospital environment.
“More than ready.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed, wincing only slightly as my ribs protested; they weren’t as bad now. “Dr. Reeves signed my release papers an hour ago.”
The chief helped gather my meager possessions, a few books Cat had brought, some clothes, and the envelope containing my snake bounty money. As we walked down the corridor, Nurse Gayle stopped us to give me a small paper bag.
“Extra gauze and antiseptic for those burns,” she said, then added with a wink, “And some cookies my mother made. Don’t tell Dr. Reeves.”
The chief’s cruiser sat baking in the Florida sun. Inside, the vinyl seats were hot enough to fry eggs, but the air conditioning kicked in quickly. As we pulled away from Lake Sebring Memorial, Judge Matthews waved from his Cadillac before falling in behind us.
“The judge wants a word before I take you home,” Chief explained.
We stopped at a roadside diner called Rosie’s, far enough from town to avoid prying eyes. The judge joined us in a back booth, ordering coffee for himself and chocolate malts for the chief and me.
“Thought you might want an update on the situation,” Judge Matthews said once our drinks arrived. His fingers drummed against his coffee cup. “Lot’s happened while you’ve been recovering.”
I nodded, bracing myself.
“Commandant Larson made bail two days ago.” The judge’s expression darkened. “Yesterday
morning, a private plane headed for Argentina crashed shortly after takeoff from Miami. Larson
was the only passenger.”
“Convenient,” I said.
“Very.” The judge stirred his coffee. “Provost Nelson wasn’t so lucky. Ten stab wounds in solitary confinement. Guards claim they saw nothing.”
I felt cold despite the summer heat. “And Shanks?”
“Spotted boarding a flight to Mexico City.” The chief leaned forward. “Ticket purchased with cash under a false name, but the gate agent identified his photo.”
“So, everyone who knows what was happening at St. Augustine’s is either dead or disappeared,” I said, putting it together.
The judge nodded grimly. “Makes our job harder, but not impossible. We’ve got enough paper evidence to justify the school’s closure permanently.”
“What about the biological agents?” I asked. “The stuff they found underground?”
Chief and the judge exchanged glances.
“That’s been ... contained,” the judge said carefully. “National security. Far above my pay
grade.”
“They’re burying it,” I translated.
“Not exactly.” The chief stirred his malt with the straw. “The Knights of Columbus are taking the fall, in a good way. They’re publicly claiming they’d received anonymous tips about abuse at the school and launched an investigation, which led to the discovery of improper conditions and the immediate closure for the safety of the students. Since they are military academies, there was minimal federal involvement due to regulations covering accreditation.”
“Technically true,” the judge added. “Just leaves out the part about the ongoing federal investigations and experimental biological weapons.”
I snorted. “And I suppose I’m just the poor kid who got caught in the middle?”
“You’re the catalyst that finally gave us the leverage to act,” Chief Simmons said firmly.
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