Chapter 4

A month later...

I was in the middle of screwing the holy hell out of Alex’s ass while Steven impaled her from below when Mom rushed into my bedroom with tears in her eyes. She had her cell phone ready and was busy dialing the number 911. I didn’t even have to look Mom in the eyes to know what was what. When she finally met my gaze, she mouthed, “your father” to me and a very distraught Alex. Vera ran into the room as well, freshly fucked by Nick, with Zoe in tow.

“We need to get dressed. I don’t think that we want our secrets getting out to anyone, do we?” I finally whispered to nods from all of them.

“They’re on their way. I don’t know if there is any saving your father, but if anyone can, it would be them,” Mom assured us now.

I began pumping on Dad’s chest as hard as I could to try to revive him, but he really seemed to be fading fast. His skin was cold and clummy, his breath non-existent despite Mom’s attempts to resuscitate him mouth-to-mouth. It was clear to me that Mom had been Dad’s last sexual partner, which seemed fitting in a sort of “final reconciliation” way and that perhaps Dad just wanted to leave this world happy. I didn’t voice those thoughts right then, though. It might jinx things, because ultimately, we’d still prefer to keep Dad alive.

I kept trying, while Vera, Alex, and Zoe all tried mouth-to-mouth. When the emergency team arrived, they found Dad as cold as ice and not breathing at all, my every attempt vain and useless. They took over for several more minutes, but nothing seemed to work. They check Dad’s pulse. Nothing. Nada. Gone. He literally had no pulse at all, not even faint. They shook their heads, but then tried to revive him through electrical shock.

Repeated efforts continued to be fruitless. Time ticked by ... all of us on pins and needles as we watched, desperate for some good news. Nothing. At last, the head of the emergency response team shook his head one last time. By now, Father Miles Flanagan was present as well and did his level best at last rites for Dad. Dad was a bad Christian, but an excellent Catholic, if one thought of it that way.

“I’m sorry. We lost him. He ... he’s dead. I can take him to the hospital, but he’s gone. No longer with us. We’ve tried everything. It’s now been ... twenty minutes since cardiac arrest. It’s over,” the paramedic informed us, much to our distress.

It was over ... something reinforced by the stench from leaking bodily fluids. It was over. Dad was gone. He had left us, Mom most of all. Mom stood there in utter shock and disbelief, unable to accept that Dad was dead. I pulled Mom close and she began crying like a baby, her eyes blurry with tears and her whole body shaking with horror.

Her anguish was in plain view of all, as was that of Vera and Alex, of course. Still, it was without question Mom who was the most broken up about this. Deep down, on a level that remained unchangeable, Mom still thought of Dad as not merely her husband, but her lover. She was still very much in love with the guy and always would be. A part of her heart and soul was shattered for good now and could never be restored. No divorce or annulment, no remarriage, no sweet new bond with new lovers and partners could ever change that fact.

Her heart was broken and her soul was crushed, at least for now.